


Look What You Made Me Do

by Kymbersmith90



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Popstar, Alternative Universe - FBI, F/M, FBI Agent Killian Jones, Investigations, Murder, Popstar Emma Swan, Serial Killers, Stalker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-06-07 12:07:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 24,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15218828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kymbersmith90/pseuds/Kymbersmith90
Summary: Special Agent Jones is on the hunt for what is rapidly becoming one of the worst serial killers in the USA. He can’t afford to be distracted by the pretty, blonde (and in his honest opinion, completely undeserving) popstar that just so happens to be his killer's muse.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **Tumblr asked, so you shall receive!**
> 
> **There isn't a set posting schedule for this one just yet, I'm afraid. But there are 8 more updates fully written and edited ready for posting, along with plenty more words that need tidying up to post.**
> 
> **Special thanks go to Nina, Tori and Joni for all their help with this piece.**

“Another?” Jones called out, as he ducked down under the yellow crime scene tape that was already in place, to make his way over to where David was already kneeling next to the medical examiner. 

“Looks like it,” Gold replied for him. “There are ligature marks on the wrists and ankles, which suggest that the victim was bound with cable ties. The same wounds have been inflicted here, here and here…” Gold lifted the simple white sheet covering the body, to indicate the deep cuts that had been made in the torso. They were in almost identical spots to the last two victims Jones had examined. “They seem to suggest that the victim was once again tortured, before she was killed. And of course,” he paused to pick up the young woman’s left hand, which was missing her ring finger. “The same trophy was taken.” 

Jones sighed as he dropped down next to the two men, and lifted the sheet that had been placed over the victim to conceal her identity from the flock of reporters who had already descended on the scene. The rumors of a possible American serial killer had them out in droves, eager for the next instalment of the saga to sell to the terrified public. 

“Have you checked inside of her mouth yet?” he asked, as he dropped the sheet back down. The young woman looked to be in her early twenties, and had probably been very pretty, before her face was slashed multiple times, to the point of disfigurement. Another signature of what Jones was hoping wouldn’t turn into a hunt for the country’s biggest serial killer. 

“We were waiting for you, Agent Jones,” Gold admitted, as he peeled back a corner of the white sheet to gently pry open the victim’s mouth. Sure enough, inside sat a balled up piece of paper that Jones knew would have been stuffed inside post-mortem. He watched as Gold gently wiggled it free with a pair of tweezers, before covering the victim once more, and holding out the slightly soggy paper to the two FBI agents that were gathered around him. 

David took it from him with a huff of his own, as he flattened it out to read what had been written on it. 

Jones didn’t need to look. 

He already knew what that note would say. 

They’d found exactly the same one on their last two victims, written in exactly the same handwriting, using exactly the same pen, on exactly the same type of paper. 

“Look what you made me do,” David read stoically, as Gold held out an evidence bag for him to slip the page inside of.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thanks for your wonderful response to the prologue.**

_“So, I am appealing for anyone with any information to come forward, no matter how insignificant you may feel it to be. Thank you.”_

Emma shut off the television as the press conference came to an end, and began to pace once more in front of the fire roaring away in her lounge.

“We have to call that number,” she stated.

“Oh no we don’t,” Regina objected. “This could _ruin_ you Emma. I thought you wanted to be known as one of the best in the industry, not someone a serial killer decided to go on a murder spree for?”

“Innocent people are dying,” she protested, whirling on her lawyer. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

“You can and you _will_ if you want to keep your career,” Regina threatened. “I have to go. Some of us have work to do tomorrow. But if you know what’s good for you, you’ll burn that package just like you did the last two.” She stormed from the room before Emma had a chance to object, leaving the younger woman alone with her own thoughts.

Logically, she knew that Regina was right. By coming forward with what she knew, if the authorities leaked the information to the media, her career would be ruined. She’d always be known as the girl who caused a spree of brutal killings in America.

But her conscience wouldn’t allow her to sit on what she knew any longer.

So with Regina gone, Emma reached for her phone and quickly tapped in the number that had been scrolling across the bottom of the screen, as the FBI gave their press conference.

“Hello, FBI tip line,” answered an overly-cheery voice, considering the nature of the calls she fielded. “How may I direct your call today?”

“I um… I need to speak with the lead on the potential serial killer case, please?”

“I’m afraid all of our agents are busy right now,” the overly-cheery voice replied. “But if you leave the information you have with me, it will be assessed by the relevant people, who will be back in touch with you when they have determined its validity.”

Emma didn’t like the idea of passing her information on to a middle-man. The information she held was sensitive, and she knew that the more people who knew her name in relation to it, the greater chance it had of leaking.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” she told the call handler. “Can you please just instruct someone to call me back?”

“I’m afraid _we_ can’t do that without more information.” The overly-cheery voice hardened slightly at Emma’s refusal to cooperate, and she sighed as she brought a hand up to massage the headache that was beginning to form.

Again.

“I’m sure you already have this number,” she replied instead. “So instruct your lead investigator to call me back. I assume he or she will want to talk to the only other person who knows that this killer has been cutting the ring fingers off their victims.” Emma didn’t bother to wait for a reply. She wasn’t in the mood for more bullshit. Instead, she simply ended the call and tossed her phone down onto her sofa, before making her way over to the small liquor cabinet in the corner of the room, to find the whiskey hidden inside.

Ever since the first package had arrived, she’d been using it to try and drown out the mental images of the pictures she’d been forced to look at. Thankfully, the shrill ringing of her cellphone stopped her before she could down the glass she’d poured for herself. Emma had to admit, she was worried that she was on the verge of becoming an alcoholic with the amount of liquor she had consumed since the parcels had started arriving. But it was the only thing that seemed to help her sleep these days.

“Yes?” she asked, answering it without bothering to check the caller ID.

“This is Special Agent Jones with the FBI. I was asked to call you about some information you had.”

Emma sat down with a heavy sigh as she contemplated how to word what she knew. She didn’t want to sound like a crazy person, but she also didn’t want to just blurt it all out. She knew there was no chance of being believed in either of those situations. And her years of binge-watching crime dramas were yelling at her not to make herself a suspect in this huge mess.

“Is um… is there any way we could do this in person?” she asked eventually. “I think it might be easier to show you what I have.”

“You could come down to the Wilshire Federal Building, and we could speak here,” he suggested.

“I can’t do that,” she replied quickly. The moment the media caught wind of her at the FBI field office, she’d be in the center of a shit show. And that would definitely spell out the end of her career. “Can you come to me?”

“I’d need some kind of assurance that I was not walking into a trap, and that this is not an elaborate prank,” he sighed heavily. Emma knew she was being difficult. She just hoped that he would realize why when they eventually met.

“He blames me,” she whispered into the handset. “He says he’s doing it all to protect me. But he ends all of his letters the same way.” The tears she had been fighting to hold back spilled over as she reached for the package that she hadn’t yet opened.

She hated the thought of innocent people losing their lives because of her.

“What do they say?” Agent Jones interjected softly.

It took Emma a few moments to steady her breathing enough to be able to croak out the words.

“Look what you made me do.”

The gasping sob that followed was all the confirmation Agent Jones needed that he wasn’t being played. “Text me your address. I’m leaving the office now.”

“Thank you,” she sobbed. “Thank you for believing me.” She hung up the phone before she could say anything else, and with trembling hands tapped out her address to send to the number he had called from.

Emma paced in front of her door as she waited for his arrival, using the nervous energy to keep her away from the call of oblivion offered to her by the whiskey. Thankfully, the buzz from her front gate sounded before she could reach for the bottle.

“Yes?” she asked, her voice shaking slightly from the fear and exhaustion caused by the events of the last few weeks.

“It’s Special Agent Jones, with the FBI.”

Emma took a few deep breaths in before she buzzed him through, and then continued her pacing until he rang her doorbell.

She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but when she pulled open the door, the man she saw standing on the other side was not it. Instead of a gruff, middle-aged man, she was face-to-face with what was possibly the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her entire life.

“Emma Swan?” he asked, his brow crinkling in confusion.

“H… How… how did you know my name?” she gasped, as the fear and worry flooding her veins made her tighten her grip on the door.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you so much for all of your wonderful comments on this story. I'm blown away by the response it has received.**
> 
> **I should point out that I was perhaps a little unclear in the prologue. David is Killian's partner. Gold is the medical examiner. I hope that helps.**

Killian seemed to sense the rapidly building panic within Emma, as he quickly raised his hands in submission and explained, “My niece is a big fan of yours. She has your posters on her bedroom walls.”

“Oh, um… thanks,” she told him, as she stepped back to pull the door open wider in invitation. “Come in. I’m sorry. I guess this whole thing has just made me a little jumpy.”

“That’s completely understandable.” Killian took a good look around at the obvious luxury the rather nervous looking Emma Swan lived in. He knew it wasn’t exactly her fault, but in that moment, he couldn’t help but feel a little resentment towards her for it. Emma Swan had probably never worked a full-time job in her life. And yet there she was, living in a house that was far too big for just her, without the worry of how she was going to pay her bills for the rest of the month.

He, on the other hand, had worked hard to get to the position he held with the FBI. He usually put in more hours in the average week than he imagined Emma Swan ever had before, during her busiest working times. And while he was finally in a somewhat comfortable position in life, he’d had to watch as his big brother struggled daily in his own. Liam was a single father, attempting to balance the raising of his daughter with the need to hold down a steady job that would keep them both fed and housed.

“So, what is it that you wanted to show me?” he asked, attempting to shake off the negativity he could feel building within him.

“This.” Emma nodded her head to the package that was sat on her sofa, and Agent Jones quirked a brow in her direction. “I couldn’t bring myself to open it,” she explained.

“So how do you know it’s relevant to the case?”

“It’s the same. _Everything’s_ the same.”

Agent Jones reached into a pocket of his black woolen jacket to pull out a pair of latex gloves, that he quickly slipped on, before he picked up the innocent looking box from the sofa. As he turned it over in his hands, the first thing that caught his attention was the familiar, elegant handwriting that had addressed the package to, _My Darling, Emma Swan_.

“There’s no address,” he noted, as he continued to examine every inch of the box. “Were the others the same?”

“Um… I can’t remember,” she replied honestly. “I still have them, though.”

“I’d like to see them, please?” Emma nodded her agreement and quickly scampered from the room, as Killian pulled out a pocket knife, sliced easily through the tape on the package, and opened it up.

On top was a letter written in the same handwriting as the notes they had found stuffed inside each victim’s mouth. While the letter was written on bigger stationary, Killian would be willing to bet his car on the fact that the lab would confirm it to be the same type of paper, and the same brand of ink, as those they had taken from inside their victim’s mouths.

_My Darling Emma,_

_I saw you again yesterday._

_You still look so sad._

_I wish you would smile for me again. You look beautiful when you smile. I miss that._

_I hope that my gifts are helping to achieve this. I have another one for you today. I tracked down that stuck-up little bitch who thought she was better than you. She won’t be rambling on to all of her idiotic followers any more._

_Now she’s as ugly on the outside, as she is on the inside._

_I hope you like my gift._

_Why don’t they make you smile, Emma?_

_I do it all for you. All to make you happy again. I just want to make you happy. Is that really such a bad thing? Why don’t you ever let me know that you’re receiving these? Why won’t you smile for me? Is that really too much to ask for?_

_I just want to make the woman I love happy again._

_Look what you made me do!_

“Wow,” he mumbled to himself, as he read the note over again, and then once more. Whoever was behind the attacks was clearly unstable. Their letter had gone from showing their obsessive love for Emma, to blaming her for the crimes they had committed.

“Here,” Emma interrupted, setting two identical packages down next to him on the sofa, before she turned away from them to pace in front of her fire. “My lawyer said I should burn them. But… I couldn’t bring myself to do that.”

“Your lawyer needs to be disbarred,” Agent Jones mumbled, as he pushed the letter aside to pull out the large envelope underneath it. “Oh God.”

The pictures in his hands were perhaps more disturbing than the actual crime scene had been. They flicked from showing a clearly terrified young woman, bound to a steel chair; to showing her horror and pain as the killer inflicted his torture upon her; all the way through to the actual act of slitting the victim's throat, and then, the mutilation to her body that had taken place post-mortem.

Killian was starting to feel less resentful and more sorry for the woman who was clearly suffering in front of him. He’d seen some crazy shit over the years, and some of that still haunted his dreams. But Emma Swan didn’t have the years of training, or the experience behind her that he did, to help her deal with what was currently happening.

He had no idea how she hadn’t yet buckled under the pressure of it all.

In that moment, Killian saw her more as a scared young woman, than he did as an international pop star who didn’t deserve all of the wealth and luxury life had blessed her with.

“What’s this?” he asked, as he fished through the boxes of chocolates, rose petals, and the soft, stuffed bear that had also been placed into the package, to pull out what appeared to be a jewelry box.

Emma turned back to see what he was holding before she turned away again quickly. He didn’t wait for her to answer. Instead, he flicked the catch on the lid, and carefully peeled back the white satin fabric that was inside.

“Jesus Christ,” he blurted out, the moment his eyes landed on the severed finger underneath it all. He slammed the lid down quickly, before placing it, and everything else, back into the cardboard box it had been sent in. “Did the rest of these packages contain the same items?” he asked, his voice hardening as he turned his full attention up to the young woman pacing before him.

“Yes,” she whispered, reaching for the warm glass of whiskey that was still stood on top of her liquor cabinet.

“And you didn’t think to call the police?”

“I was going to, but Regina said that it was just an elaborate prank, and that I didn’t need to get tangled up in that kind of mess for someone with a sick sense of humor. It wasn’t until I saw the news tonight that I realized what was happening.” Her voice trailed off as she realized just how stupid she had been.

“Someone sent you a severed finger and you thought it was a prank?” he asked, his voice ringing with disbelief. “You do know that I could charge you right now for withholding evidence, right? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t?”

“Because I was scared,” she admitted softly. “I _wanted_ to believe it was prank, because if it’s not, then some whack-job really is out there, murdering people because he thinks it will make me happy. And they have my address! When does he stop killing other people and start killing me?”

Killian swallowed hard as she turned large, watery eyes his way that screamed of her helplessness and fear. “You should have come forward sooner,” he told her forcefully. “We can protect you.”

Emma laughed a little bitterly as she drained what was left in her glass, and moved to pour herself another. “Yeah, I doubt that,” she mumbled. “If this homicidal maniac doesn’t kill me first, I might drink myself to death just to get those fucking images out of my mind.”

Killian took the three steps forward he needed to put himself in reach of the young woman, and pulled the crystal glass from her hand, tipping the contents of it into the nearest potted plant. “ _We can protect you_ ,” he stated again firmly. “You made a mistake by not coming forward sooner, but now that you have, we _can_ protect you, Miss Swan.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what happened next.

One minute he was looking at Emma Swan as tears ran down her face, smudging her perfect makeup, while her shoulders shook with her fear. The next, he had an armful of the popstar as she cried into his chest.


	4. Chapter 3

When Killian finally managed to calm Emma down, he gently eased her onto the sofa before telling her, “I’m gonna go and grab you a glass of water. I need to call this in too, okay?”

“No, you can’t,” she begged, her hand shooting out to latch onto his arm once more.

“I have to. It’s procedure,” he explained softly. “This is evidence in three separate homicides, which now proves our theory that they’re linked. I _have_ to follow procedure here, Miss Swan. If I don’t, then when we catch this creepy bastard, he could walk free because of it. Is that something you could live with?”

Emma’s lip trembled softly with a fresh wave of tears. “It’ll ruin my career,” she whispered.

Killian gently pried her hand off his arm to crouch down in front of her. “Well, I’m sorry, but you’re getting no choice in this matter,” he told her firmly. “Three people have _died_ , Miss Swan. I’m sorry that their loss of life might ruin yours, but at least you still have one. They weren’t quite as lucky. Now, I’m gonna go and fetch you a glass of water and call this in, do you understand me?”

“You think I don’t know that?” she shot back. “You think their deaths aren’t constantly on my mind? That I don’t wake up every morning and _hate_ myself for being the reason that they’re dead? Do you honestly think I’ll _ever_ get those fucking images out of my head? I know this is my fault. He makes that pretty fucking obvious with every letter and goddamned finger he sends me. And I know I’ve probably made things worse by trying to convince myself that it was all some kind of sick joke. But I’m just doing my best to protect my career. Because right now, it’s the _only_ thing that’s stopping me from ending my own life.”

Killian’s ire calmed a little at the haunted look in Emma’s eyes. He could see the way her fingers twitched, as her eyes darted over to the liquor cabinet in the corner of the room, before settling back on his face. And he hated himself a little for what he’d said. He didn’t know much about Emma Swan, beyond her choice of career. He would wager that Ellie knew more about her than he did. But in that moment, she looked so much like a lost little girl.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” he offered. “This case is just getting under my skin and I shouldn’t have taken that out on you. Or implied that you didn’t care. But I _have_ to call this in. I’ll make sure the department is as discreet as they can be, though. I promised we’d keep you safe. That means concealing your identity too. Okay?”

Emma finally nodded her agreement and Killian offered her arm a gentle squeeze before he stood once more. “Which direction is your kitchen?” he asked. He wouldn’t be surprised if the damned house was like a TARDIS – bigger on the inside than it looked from outside.

“Through there,” she replied tonelessly, as she nodded her head over her shoulder.

Killian smiled softly down at her to show that he’d heard what she’d said, before he set off to find the room. As he did, he pulled out his phone to call in what had happened. It took him as long as the call he’d placed to locate Emma Swan’s kitchen. He passed what appeared to be a music room; along with a bathroom; and another lounge, before he finally stepped into the marble and cherry wood of her kitchen.

“Jesus, how many rooms does one girl need?” he mumbled to himself, before he started pulling open cabinets in his hunt for a glass. He had to admit, she kept the place pretty clean and orderly. Although, he was willing to bet that was more likely a result of her cleaner, or her mother’s actions, rather than her own. Emma Swan didn’t look like the kind of girl who would enjoy getting down on her hands and knees to scrub the floor.

He finally found the crystal glasses that matched the tumbler he’d taken from her earlier that evening, on the other side of the kitchen. The fridge was easy enough to locate, and there were small bottles of water inside of it that he assumed she would prefer over tap water. Emma Swan didn’t look like a tap water kinda girl either. Killian tucked two of them into the crook of his arm, before he made his way out of the room and back through the maze of corridors to find the lounge once more.

Emma was no longer sat on the sofa when he finally made it back. She’d returned to pacing in front of the fire once more, with another glass of amber liquid in her hand.

“Hey,” he declared firmly.

She jumped a little at the sound of his voice, but continued her pacing. Killian sighed as he sat the bottles and glass onto the small coffee table, before he approached her again. “ _This_ ,” he explained, pulling the glass out of her hand, “doesn’t help.”

“You’re wrong,” she shot back, reaching for the drink he’d taken from her. But before she could touch it, Killian upturned it into the same potted plant as had the last time. He sat the empty glass down on top of the cabinet, while she continued to glare daggers into the side of his head.

“You only think it does,” he countered. “Trust me, the bottom of the bottle isn’t as satisfying as you think it is. I know you’ve been through a lot recently, but _this_ isn’t the answer.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I’ve been doing this job long enough,” was all he told her.

Emma didn’t have time to say anything else, as they were interrupted by a sharp buzz from her front gate, and she jumped a little at the sudden noise.

Killian found himself wondering if she’d been jumping every time someone rang that bell, since the first package had arrived. And like before, he found his anger calming a little at the thought of her being so scared in her own home.

“Wait here,” he told her, as his hand dropped down to cover the gun that was sat on his hip. He assumed that it was the crime scene team that had arrived, ready to collect the evidence. But given what he’d learned that evening, he was taking no chances.

Thankfully, Killian recognized the voice of his own people, and their van, when he saw it on Emma’s security monitor. He also identified the dark SUV following behind it as David’s, so he didn’t hesitate to buzz them through the gate, before making his way into the hall to wait for them by the front door.

“Wow, we are definitely in Hollywood now,” David whistled, as he made his way up the drive and over to the open door his partner was holding for him. “Whose place is this?”

“Do you remember that singer that Ellie loves?” Killian asked softly, casting a look over his shoulder to see if Emma had decided to follow him out. At David’s nod of agreement he added, “Her.”

“Shit! What the hell is she doing caught up in all of this?”

“The killer seems to be some kind of crazed super fan,” Killian whispered. “His letters go from declaring his love for her, to blaming her for making him kill the victims. And he’s targeting people that he believes have hurt her.”

“Shit,” David cursed again, as he slipped through the door. “Nice place, though.”

“Too fucking nice,” Killian snorted. He waited for the crime scene techs to get their stuff together before he guided everyone through the hall and into the lounge once more.

Emma was pacing in front of the fire again. But this time, she was sipping from a bottle of water, instead of a glass of whiskey.

“Miss Swan?” Killian called out softly, in an attempt not to spook her.

It didn’t work.

Emma almost covered herself in the water with the way she jumped.

“It’s okay,” he reassured her. “This is my partner, Special Agent David Nolan. And these are our crime scene techs. They’re gonna take a look at the packages you’ve received, okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered back, before downing the contents of her bottle in one long pull.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback on this story so far. I'm completely blown away by it all.**

The crime scene techs left the house almost two hours after their arrival.

Killian had guided Emma through to the other lounge he’d seen earlier that evening, on his way to the kitchen, to allow their team to go through each of the boxes thoroughly. The techs had taken their time removing every item one-by-one to photograph from each possible angle, before forensically securing them for transportation back to the lab. One of the technicians had been tasked with taking some pictures of the general layout of the ground floor of the house, and in particular, the way in which mail made its way onto the property. Others spent their time dusting for prints at the front gate and around Emma’s doorway, in the vague hopes that something might come up when they run them through the system.

Their final task for the evening had been taking Emma’s own prints, to rule them out of whatever may have been found. Killian had been sure that it would be the breaking point for the young popstar, but he watched as Emma swallowed back her tears just long enough to give them what was needed, before she escaped to the sanctuary of one of the bathrooms in her home.

“Miss Swan,” he called out softly, as his knuckles rapped on the door she’d disappeared behind. “I know this is difficult for you, but my partner and I just need to go over a few more things before we can leave.”

He heard what sounded like someone blowing their nose, followed by the distinct flush of the toilet, before the lock on the door clicked open a few moments later. Emma’s eyes were ringed in red, betraying the tears that had fallen in private, but Killian decided not to mention them unless she chose to bring them up.

“Emma.”

“Pardon me?” he asked, a little confused by that one word statement.

“My name. It’s Emma. You don’t have to keep calling me, ‘Miss Swan.’”

“Thank you, Emma. I’ll try and keep that in mind.” Killian smiled softly down at her before letting her lead the way back to the lounge. David was already there waiting for the two of them, and had parked himself in one of the chairs around the small table which stood in the corner of the room.

“I’m sorry about this, Miss Swan,” he offered, standing to gesture for her to take a seat in one of the free chairs. “We just need to be as thorough as we possibly can be. We don’t want to miss anything that could help us catch this guy before he hurts someone else.”

Emma nodded her understanding as she lowered her body to sit stiffly in one of the leather-padded seats. She pulled down on the sleeves on her sweater, almost as if the physical shield of the cotton would help keep her safe. She looked so young and innocent in that moment, that Killian’s heart broke a little for her.

“How old are you, Emma?” he asked, before he could think the question through. David cocked a brow in his direction, but Killian played it off as no big deal by pulling out his own pad and pen, ready to take some notes.

“Twenty-four,” she replied easily. She didn’t even look startled by the oddness of the question, although he assumed that was because she’d never been questioned by the authorities before.

Killian scribbled the number at the top of his page, circling it a few times for added effect, before he dived straight in with the questions he knew he should be asking. “Okay. I’ll need you to start at the beginning for me. Before the first package arrived, had you ever received any other parcels or letters written in a similar hand? Or anything professing the same kind of love for you?”

Emma snorted a laugh and for a brief moment, Killian was worried that she had cracked completely under the stress of recent events. “I get letters like that every day, Agent Jones. As for the handwriting… I don’t know. I don’t tend to spend my time analyzing it, I’m afraid.”

“Anything in particular that struck you as strange?” David pressed.

“Having men twice your age describe to you in a letter _exactly_ how they wanna fuck you is everyone’s definition of strange. I stopped reading a lot of it a long time ago.”

“What happens to all of your fan mail?” Killian wondered. He knew that many celebrities kept the less crazy stuff they received, and he’d kind of assumed that Emma Swan would be the same. At least, he hoped that she was, given that Ellie had written to her favorite popstar a few times over the last couple of years. While she’d always gotten a letter and a signed picture back, Killian knew that his niece would be crushed if she thought her own letters simply ended up in the trash before ever reaching the hands of their intended recipient.

“It’s sorted by the security people that work here, before it comes to me. I only see the good stuff like the pictures kids draw for me, or the letters thanking me for helping them through difficult times.” Emma fidgeted a little more and Killian reached for the second bottle of water he’d brought through to the room with him, to give her something to keep her hands occupied with.

“Do you think your team would have kept the bad?” he asked gently.

“I honestly don’t know,” she sighed. “You can ask them. But I just…. I can’t help you there. I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” David assured her, “You’re already helping us.”

When Emma cocked a brow in disbelief, Killian jumped in to supply an explanation. “You’ve just told us that all of your mail is sorted before you get it. Which means whoever sent those boxes has been watching you long enough to know that. And they also know how to get around the issue too. So that’s something to start with.”

Emma shivered a little at the thought of some stranger knowing the inner workings of her home so well, but once again, Special Agent Jones seemed to know exactly where her thoughts had gone.

“David’s going to place a quick call back to our office,” he told her. He risked a glance over to his partner, who already had his phone out to bring up the number, before turning his full attention back to the scared, young woman sat opposite him. “We’re gonna ask for a protective detail to be put on your home. Hopefully that way, we’ll see whoever it is that’s watching the house.”

Emma nodded her understanding but she didn’t look overly reassured. As David excused himself to call in the request, Killian leaned over the small table to rest his hand comfortingly on her arm. “You’ll be safe here, Emma. We know that at the moment, this person doesn’t want to hurt you. It’s unlikely that they’ll try and get into the house anytime soon. Most of these kinds of perpetrators prefer to watch the object of their affection from a distance. They do these awful things to get your attention, because they’re too shy to confront you about how they feel. They get their kicks from voyeurism, because it seems like some kind of grand romantic gesture to them. The detail outside will be there to watch, but they will also be armed, just in case you need them. Okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed softly. “What um… what about when I need to leave the house? I have a tour starting in less than forty days. I can’t let those fans down.”

“I’m confident that by the time your tour starts, we’ll have this guy in custody and ready to face trial,” he promised. “You coming forward the way you have, has _really_ helped us to connect some dots with this case.”

They sat in a slightly awkward silence for a moment longer, before David made his way back into the room to confirm that the security detail were already on their way, and would be in place by the time the two senior agents left that evening.

Unfortunately, there were still many more questions that needed to be answered before either David or Killian could even _think_ of leaving the luxury home they had been called out to.


	6. Chapter 5

“You just know your day’s gonna be shit when you start it in the morgue,” David sighed, as he slipped into the room to stand beside his partner. Killian was already staring down at the mutilated body on the gurney in front of them.

“All of my days start in the morgue, Special Agent Nolan,” Gold declared, as he made his way out of his office, and over to the table with a file in hand. “Very few of them turn out to be shit.”

“Point taken,” David conceded.

“This one, however, just might live up to your beliefs,” the medical examiner continued. “I am here to officially confirm to you both that you are indeed dealing with a serial murderer.”

“Of course we are.”

Killian had known it was coming. David had known it was coming. Hell, most of the department had known it was coming. But Gold making it official meant that things were about to become a lot tighter for their case. The Bureau hated to use the term serial offender. They hated the press terrifying the American population with the news that a serial killer was loose on the streets. And Killian knew that this meant his day would soon involve a trip to his supervisor’s office, to listen to the guy yell all of that at him for a few hours.

“As we noted at the scene, the M.O is the same for this victim as the previous two. She was tortured prior to her death. The aim seeming to be more disfigurement, than to cause extensive pain. She suffered the same pattern of wounds to the torso.” Gold paused in his explanation to note the cuts made, which were almost identically placed to their first two victims. “Her left ring finger was removed post-mortem, and the injuries to her face were also made after her death. The lab has already confirmed that the note placed into her mouth was written on the same paper, in the same hand, using the same ink as your previous victims. The cause of death is once more exsanguination due to a singular wound at the throat.”

Killian and David had been expecting that too. The large gash on her neck had been incredibly telling.

“I’ll need more time with the body to be certain, but my preliminary examinations suggest the wounds inflicted to the body were all made with the same instrument as your first two victims, and by the same hand. Which all leads me to conclude that you have three victims whose lives have been taken by the same individual.”

“Thanks, Gold. Any news yet on what weapon we’re looking for?” Jones asked hopefully, as the older man passed along the file containing his current findings.

“I’d guess a standard kitchen knife, but I can’t be sure, I’m afraid. The weapon was used to slash, not to stab. So we don’t have a clear impression of the blade.” Gold looked a little disappointed in himself for not having the answers the two agents needed, but they both knew it wasn’t his fault.

“No worries, Doc. You’re already given us more than enough to go on,” David assured him. “A couple more things before we go...”

Gold cut him off before David could get his remaining questions out. “No, I don’t have an ID yet, and no, there was no foreign DNA traces on the body. Enjoy the rest of your day, Agents”

* * *

“So, what are we thinking?” David asked, as he placed two mugs of coffee onto Killian’s desk, and kicked the office door closed behind himself.

His friend looked up from where he had been tapping away on his computer, and released a hefty sigh. “Obsessive fan seems to be the best bet,” Killian suggested, as he reached forward to grab his drink. “But I don’t know… something about this doesn’t sit right with me.”

“In what way?” David had been working with Killian since he had joined the Bureau, and throughout that time, he’d come to trust his partner. If Killian suspected that something was off, David would back him up as he followed through the investigation. “Do you think the Swan girl is responsible?”

“No. I don’t. She’s far too vulnerable and emotional for all of this to have been an act.” When David raised a brow in question, Killian added, “If she’s the one committing these murders, she’s one hell of an actor. And I’ll resign on the spot.”

“Okay. Then what are we thinking?”

“I don’t know…. yet. Have we heard back from the security team?” he asked instead.

“Yeah. That’s actually what I’m here for,” David chuckled, as he set the file that he’d brought through with him down in front of his friend. “They said that we can have access to everything that they haven’t been through yet. But they also warned that every day, they get bags of stuff to sort through, so there’s a lot of it.”

Killian nodded his head in understanding. He assumed that like most celebrities, Emma would get her fair share of fan mail. Thankfully, the FBI had far more staff to sort through it, and at a much faster rate, than she did.

“As we expected, they reported back that they pass along everything friendly to Miss. Swan, but everything deemed inappropriate is destroyed. They burn it, so there’s no traces of it left.”

“Of course they do,” Jones sighed. Nobody ever recycled the stuff they needed. “Well… send a team to go and pick it up as inconspicuously as they can, and let’s hope that maybe this guy decided to be nice before he went down the murder-for-love route.”

“What about the stuff Miss. Swan has kept?” David asked.

Killian paused what he was doing to think his partner’s question through. Emma had suggested that she kept a portion the pleasant fan mail that had been sent to her. And maybe, if they were lucky, their killer had sent her something sweet in the past that just might have some kind of identifying information on it.

“I’ll stop by later tomorrow morning and pick it up. She’ll probably appreciate a friendly face over complete strangers, given what she’s been through. I’m just waiting for Isaacs to chew me out over this shit first.”

David chuckled a little as he stood up to head back to his own desk. “I don’t envy you that, Mate.” He paused at the doorway, lingering for a moment before he finally asked, “Hey, Killian… do you find her attractive?”

“Find who attractive?” Killian asked, lifting his head to cock a brow up at his friend.

“The Swan girl. I mean, last time I checked, her age wasn’t a necessary requirement for this investigation. You could have Googled that.”

“What do you want me to say?” he defended, a little too fiercely. “She’s a pretty girl. I have eyes. Of course I find her attractive. Are you saying that you don’t?”

“I’m married,” David countered.

“Yeah. And you also have eyes. Being married doesn’t mean you automatically stop finding other people attractive.”

David conceded that point with a sharp bob of his head, before opening his mouth to ask something else. Unfortunately for him, their supervisor beat him to it with a yell of, “Jones. My office. Now!” from the other side of the bullpen.

“And there it is,” Killian sighed, as he gathered up everything that he had so far on the investigation.

“Good luck, Mate,” David said instead, as he moved aside to let Killian pass.

He was halfway around the room before a thought suddenly occurred to him, and he called out, “Hey, Dave? Find out who her lawyer is for me? I want him or her brought in for questioning.”

“You think the lawyer did it?” David asked.

“No. I just wanna know what law school in this country thinks that they should be teaching their students to advise their clients to destroy evidence in a criminal case.”

David nodded his agreement as he watched his friend knock once on the door to the office of their supervisor, before heading inside to present their case so far.


	7. Chapter 6

“Well, you look like shit,” Ariel declared, as she swept into Emma’s home the next morning.

“You would too, if you were living my life right now,” Emma mumbled back, while she closed the door behind her assistant.

She’d been awake half the night - again. Every time she closed her eyes, the images of those bodies flashed behind them once more. It had taken her one-and-a-half bottles of her best whiskey, and three hours, before she’d finally fallen asleep. But as the alcohol had worn off, the dreams had started, and Emma had once again bolted awake as her nightmares returned.

“You need to shower before the team gets here,” Ariel instructed, while making herself comfortable on the sofa. “We have two interviews to record this morning, and a live performance to get through. Do you think you can manage that?”

“I’m perfectly capable of that, thank you.” Emma knew that everyone thought she was going through some kind of breakdown. She also knew that because of her age, they all seemed to think that they knew what was best for her. But Emma’s patience was at its limit, and she was in no mood to be treated like the stupid child everyone assumed her to be.

“We don’t have all day.”

She bit down on her tongue as she turned on her heels to head for the comfort of her shower. The last thing she wanted to do that day was promotional work. She wasn’t ready to deal with people after everything that had happened recently. But Emma also didn’t want to let her fans down. She knew that they were excited about the new single she was releasing at the start of the following week. And they were even more excited about the tour that would soon be following it. If she cancelled all of her promotional work this close to the opening date, they would begin to worry.

And that was not how Emma wanted to repay her fans for all of their support.

Before she could leave her lounge, there was a sharp buzz from her front gate that signalled someone else’s arrival at the house.

“I’ll get that,” Ariel declared, as she rose from her seat. “It’s probably just the stylists arriving a little early. Go and shower.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Emma mocked, as she rolled her eyes in her assistant’s direction, and headed for the privacy of her bathroom. As much as she wasn’t looking forward to spending the majority of her morning pretending that everything was normal, the idea of washing off last night’s dream was highly appealing to her.

* * *

When Emma eventually left her bathroom, she was dressed the way she always was, when she knew a team of stylists would be waiting for her. She’d left her hair damp, to hang in loose waves around her shoulders, and she’d pulled on a pair of nude panties, before wrapping a white fluffy robe around her body.

“Okay. I fucking showered,” she declared to Ariel, as she made her way through to the lounge. “Are you happy now?” But Emma stopped dead in her tracks when her eyes fell on the man sitting next to her assistant on the sofa. He was certainly _not_ part of her glam squad.

“Um, Emma… there’s an FBI Agent here to see you,” Ariel explained, as she looked between the two of them curiously. Emma could already see the questions forming in the redhead’s mind.

“Special Agent Jones,” she greeted. “Has something happened?”

“Good morning, Emma. Do you think we could maybe speak in private?” he asked, as he rose to his feet.

Killian flicked a brief look over to where Ariel was still sat, before bringing his eyes back to the young woman he had come to see. Her assistant didn’t look too happy to be dismissed so easily, but she left anyway, closing the door to the lounge behind her as she went.

Killian gestured for Emma to take a seat on the couch he’d just risen from, and waited until she had carefully arranged herself, and the robe she was wearing, before he took his own. “I know this isn’t the best timing,” he began, as he picked a spot on the wall just over her left shoulder, and fixed his eyes on it.

_Of course the pretty young popstar would be walking around her house in nothing but a short bathrobe when he arrived._

_That was just his luck._

“But we’d like to see the fan mail that you’ve kept, if at all possible?”

“The good stuff?” Emma wondered. “Why?”

“There’s a small chance that our offender could have begun his obsession by sending you sweet messages, and then progressed into the more aggressive and unstable ones you’ve recently been receiving, when he felt he wasn’t getting enough of your attention. If that’s happened, then we can use those letter to build up a clearer image of the mentality of the person we’re looking for. We’re also hoping that in the past, this individual might have been a little more careless with their correspondence, and left some kind of clue as to their identity in their messages.”

“They’re um… they’re in my studio,” she explained, pointing to one of the doors behind her shoulder that Killian hadn’t been through, the last time he’d visited the house. “Do you want them now?”

“If I could.”

Emma watched as Agent Jones averted his eyes while she stood and tightened the belt on her robe, before he followed her down the hall to her studio.

“I um… I have some promotional work to do today,” she told him, feeling the need to explain why she was dressed the way she was. “I thought you were my team of stylists. There’s no point getting dressed for them when they’re just gonna undress you as soon as you get in the room.”

“I wouldn’t know that. I’m probably the _least_ stylish person in the world,” he joked, hoping to keep the tone light.

Although he’d never say it, Killian could see the haunted look that still lingered behind Emma Swan’s eyes. Without makeup, the circles underneath them looked deeper and darker. And he had spotted the two empty bottles on top of the liquor cabinet in the lounge too.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she teased, as she turned back to look at him over her shoulder. “That black sweater’s doing a lot for you right now.”

Killian looked down at himself and frowned. The sweater he was wearing was nothing special. It probably cost less than anything Emma had ever owned in her entire lifetime. But it was easy to move in, and cheap to replace if he ended up putting holes in it. For that reason alone, he had an entire closet full of them for work.

As Emma pushed open a heavy looking wooden door, he snapped his mind away from fashion, and back to the job he was supposed to be doing. “Jesus fuck,” he muttered to himself, as he took in the soundproofed room he was now stood inside of. Killian would be willing to bet that the recording equipment alone cost more than everything he owned, including his beloved car. It didn’t seem fair to him that a twenty-four-year-old woman had managed to build such a top-of-the-range recording studio, in her multi-million-dollar mansion, while his brother was struggling to decide between paying his rent or buying food for his daughter that week.

“This is everything I’ve kept,” she told him, as she pointed to one large wall that had been covered in letters, drawings and pictures.

Killian was rather touched to see the amount that she had pinned to it, after his initial thoughts about her approach to fan mail. There were well over a thousand items on that wall, and it was going to take him a while to get them all down, and bagged for evidence.

“I’ll um… I’ll get these back, won’t I?” Emma asked nervously, as her eyes flew over the shrine she’d built to her fans.

“Yes, of course. As soon as the investigation is over, we’ll bring them back to you.”

“Good.” Emma nodded her head decisively, but said nothing else as she watched Agent Jones browse the top layer of letters and pictures. “I um, I should probably go and start getting ready. Will you be okay here?”

“Yeah. I’ll take good care of everything and get it all down as quickly as I can for you,” he promised.

“Thanks.” Emma left without another word, closing the door softly behind herself as she did.

Killian sighed as he brought a hand up to massage his temples. Fucking David had been teasing him all morning about his supposed crush on Emma Swan. Killian was a thirty-two-year-old man, he was too old to have a crush on a pretty blonde popstar.

Especially one that was caught up in the middle of what could become one of the country’s worst serial killing sprees in modern history.

“Focus on the job, and not on the girl,” he told himself, as he reached into his pocket for the stash of evidence bags he always carried, and another set of latex gloves.


	8. Chapter 7

“Special Agent Jones?”

Killian turned at the sound of his title to find Emma lingering in the doorway to the studio. She had changed out of the small bathrobe she’d been wearing before, and was now dressed in a bright orange skirt that fell to the middle of her thighs; and a white t-shirt with thin, black, horizontal stripes, embellished with two birds made from gold sequins. A black blazer and a pair of black studded pumps completed her look, along with the trademark bold red lipstick she was never seen without. The outfit was every inch business casual, and yet still managed to reflect the young and bubbly personality that he’d seen shining through in all of Ellie’s posters of the popstar.

“Yes, sorry?” he asked, pulling his eyes away from the long expanse of her bare legs.

“I just wanted to let you know that I was headed out now. Do you know how much longer you’ll be?”

“I can come back when you’re not busy,” he offered. Killian knew that he would be uncomfortable with the idea of a stranger in his home, while he wasn’t present. And he didn’t want to be the cause of any more distress for Emma, given what she had already been through.

“It’s okay. You can finish here. I mean, it’s not like you’re planning to go through my underwear drawer and sell my panties on eBay, or anything.” She forced a laugh but he could tell from the sound of it that something wasn’t quite right with the joke she had made.

“Has someone _actually_ done that to you before?”

Emma flicked her glance down to the shiny points of her shoes, before bringing her eyes back up to meet his gaze once more. “Yeah. I was on tour in Brazil at the time. Some guy broke into my hotel room and stole all of my dirty laundry. My underwear turned up on eBay a few days later.”

Killian’s stomach twisted a little at her confession. The more he learned about Emma Swan, the more she surprised him. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how violated she must have felt after such an incident.

“Did you report it to the police?” he pushed.

“Yeah. They found the guy responsible. I have a restraining order against him that’s still in effect.”

Killian nodded his understanding but pulled out a small notepad nonetheless. “Do you mind if I take his name?”

“Do you think he’s behind all of this?” Emma wondered.

“Honestly, probably not,” he admitted. “But I’d rather explore every avenue we have and rule the obvious out, than leave something uninvestigated that comes back to bite us in the ass.”

Emma nodded her head in agreement as she said, “That makes sense. My um, my lawyer is coming over to lock up when you’re finished, and can give you the name then?”

“That’s perfect. I actually need to speak with him when he’s available.”

“She,” Emma chuckled. “Regina Mills. My lawyer’s a she.”

“My apologies.”

Emma stood in silence for a moment and Killian followed suit, just watching as her eyes darted around the room, seeing nothing and everything all at once. He suspected that there was something more she wanted to say, but before she could voice her opinion, someone called her name from another room in the house.

“I should go,” she told him unnecessarily. “Thanks for coming to do this, Agent Jones.”

“I promise I’ll make sure everything is returned in the condition that it left this room in.”

Killian wasn’t a handwriting expert, but from what he’d seen so far, none of the fan mail on Emma’s wall matched the writing on the packages she had been sent. But the content of some of the letters he had seen so far had his mind forming a different image of Emma Swan, than the one he’d first built when he’d pulled up to her home. Some messages spoke of encounters from previous years, or even personal correspondence the star had exchanged with people who had reached out to her. From everything he’d seen that morning, Killian was starting to realize that Emma’s fan base meant a lot to her, and not just because of the money they made her.

Emma lingered for a moment longer before she turned gracefully on her heels and left the room. Killian waited until he could no longer hear the click of her shoes on the wooden flooring, before he returned to carefully removing each piece of paper from the wall, and depositing them into secure evidence bags.

* * *

Emma knew that she shouldn’t, but as everyone in the living room began clearing out of the space, she turned to her liquor cabinet and poured herself a small glass of vodka. The burn of the alcohol was sharp and harsh, exactly what she needed to get her mind away from the images it liked to keep at the very front of her focus, and on the day she had ahead of her.

Their first stop was at the Good Morning America studios, where she would be giving a live interview to promote her new single, the up-coming album it was taken from, and the tour she had planned.

It wasn’t the first live televised interview she had given, and Emma knew that it wouldn’t be her last. But she couldn’t stop the fear from creeping in as she climbed into the back of her car for the drive to the studio. The media hadn’t yet made the connection between the murder spree currently taking place in the country, and herself. But she wasn’t naïve enough to believe they never would.

She also wouldn’t put it past them to spring it on her in a live televised interview either.

“Are we gonna talk about it?” Ariel asked suddenly, startling Emma out of her thoughts and back to the present.

“Talk about what?” she asked.

“The FBI agent in your home. What the hell was all of that about? Is there something going on that I need to be aware of?” she demanded.

Emma knew that the right thing to do would be to confess to Ariel everything that had happened in the last few weeks. When the connection was eventually made, she knew that her assistant would be in the best position to deal with the fallout. And if she was caught off guard, that wouldn’t help Emma’s situation.

But she couldn’t bring herself to admit that she was the one responsible for the deaths of the people currently being attributed to a serial killer. Saying it out loud again would make it more real, and she wasn’t ready to deal with everything that came from that confession.

Emma was barely holding herself together as it was.

So instead she told Ariel, “It’s nothing important. And nothing I can speak of, I’m afraid. I’ll let you know if that changes, though.”

Ariel didn’t look convinced, but she had been working with Emma long enough to know not to push the issue. “You’d tell me if you were in trouble, right?” she asked instead.

“Of course I would. I’m not about to be arrested anytime soon,” Emma assured the redhead. “So you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain of that,” Ariel mumbled quietly, but she quickly changed the subject to the list of pre-approved questions that had been negotiated with the studio already. That way, Emma would have the perfect answers to them fresh in her mind, when she sat down in front of the cameras.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Emma's look here is based on Jen's look for the December 2012 Lucky Magazine shoot**


	9. Chapter 8

Of course the show was reporting on the murders when Emma arrived on set, ready for her own segment. It was all the media seemed to be talking about these days, so she really should have expected it. But that didn’t stop the nerves from kicking in as she listened to the anchors explain what little they knew to the public, and the advice that had been issued from the FBI to anyone with information.

Thankfully, over the years since she’d signed with Sony Music, Emma had gotten better at putting on a brave face. So when she was called on to the set, ready for her interview, she walked on confidently, with a smile and wave for the audience and cameras.

“It’s lovely to see you again,” Jennie greeted, as she leaned in to press a kiss to Emma’s cheek, before inviting her to take a seat. “How are you?”

Inside, Emma’s mind was screaming, _I’m scared and alone and I don’t know how to cope._ But instead, what she said was, “I’m good, thanks. It’s a beautiful day in Los Angeles, and I know there are some fans outside waiting to say hi when I’m done here. So it’s all good. How are you?”

She tried her best to listen to whatever it was Jennie was saying, but Emma’s mind was reeling once more. Agent Jones had suggested that whoever was behind the attacks could have once been a loyal fan of hers. He could be in the small crowd of people outside waiting to speak with her, and she would never know it. How was she ever expected to interact with her fans normally again, knowing that one of them was a serial killer?

She reached for the glass of water that had been set on the small table for her, in an attempt to cover her nerves, and shake off those unwelcome and intrusive thoughts.

“So, tell us about the album,” Jennie encouraged.

At least this was something Emma was good at. She liked talking about her music. She just wished interviewers would focus on _that_ more than on other aspects of her life. “It’s um, it’s a little different to what I’ve done in the past,” she admitted. “It feels more mature than my last album, and I’m really proud of how it’s turned out. For me, it’s a musical representation of the changes I’ve been through since recording Wake Up Call.”

“And you have the title track from the album releasing this Friday, with most experts predicting it will chart in the top three. How does that kind of support feel?”

“It never really stops feeling surreal,” she chuckled. “I hate to admit this, but I’m the kind of music listener who only buys what interests me. So I purchase lots of singles and very few albums from my favorite acts. I hardly ever pre-order anything. Knowing that I have fans who believe so much in me that they’re willing to place pre-orders _before_ they’ve even heard the music, is just astounding. I feel really lucky to have so many wonderful people in my corner.”

“That truly does sound overwhelming,” Jennie chimed in, although Emma assumed that the woman had no idea how astounding and humbling that kind of support could be. “Are you doing anything over the weekend to celebrate, assuming that the track does chart well?”

Emma laughed a little awkwardly. In the past, her team had insisted on throwing parties for her to celebrate landing the Billboard top spot. But this time around, nobody had suggested any kind of celebration, and Emma wasn’t in the mood to create her own. “No, not this time,” she replied diplomatically. “We’re preparing for a world tour, so most of our efforts have been focused on making that as fantastic as it possibly can be.”

“Of course. You’re beginning that in May, right? Tell us a little more about what we can expect to see.”

These were the types of questions Emma much preferred to answer. While she had a whole team of people who were busy planning the tour to perfection, she had been involved in every single stage of that process, and she knew it well. Performing on stage, while terrifying, was also electrifying. It was her favorite part of her job, unlike the countless repetitive interviews she was expected to give.

“Yes, our first date is the eighth of May, in Glendale. From there we have fifty-eight dates spanning North America, Europe, Asia and Australia, ending in November in New Zealand. A lot of work has gone into the shows, so we really hope the fans enjoy them as much as we’ve enjoyed preparing for them.”

“Doing that many shows, does it ever get boring or lonely?” Jennie pressed.

Emma chewed on her bottom lip for a moment as she thought through her answer, before she gave it. “It never gets boring. Even though the set list is the same for each show, every one is different. The fans all give each stadium a different feel and atmosphere to perform in. That’s what I love most about the tours. You never really know what’s gonna happen until you’re up on that stage. Of course, there are always moments where you feel lonely. I think that applies to every human being, regardless of what they’re doing in life. But I’m blessed to be surrounded by a wonderful team of people who help keep me from feeling too homesick. And I enjoy travelling, so that’s an added bonus to the tours for me.”

“Of course.”

Jennie nodded her head as if she could possibly understand what performing to hundreds of thousands of people felt like. Emma doubted that her comfortable job as a talk-show host, based in a television studio, felt anywhere near the same way.

“Before we let you go, I just have to ask… is there anyone special in your life right now?”

Emma had known the question was coming, even though it wasn’t on the preapproved list. It had been asked at pretty much every interview she’d ever given, since splitting up with her ex, Graham. And while she and Graham had remained good friends, Emma wasn’t at all interested in getting back together with him the way the media seemed to be.

“Nope. Not right now.” She fixed what she hoped was a pleasant smile onto her face, as she explained, “With the release and tour dates fast approaching, I don’t have time to eat some days, let alone to date anybody new. I just want to focus on my career right now. When I meet the right person, I’m sure it will be at the right time.”

“Well, that’s about all we have time for today. Thanks for joining us, Emma. I know you have a busy day ahead of you.” Jennie turned her attention back to the camera in front of her, reeling off the information about Emma’s album release and tour dates, before giving a quick rundown on what was left for the program.

Emma waited patiently until the director called cut on their section before making her escape as calmly as she possibly could.

“That went well,” Ariel told her, handing over a bottle of water for Emma to take a sip from.

God how she wished it was vodka.

“The fans outside are waiting to see you, so we’ll stop there for a moment so you can sign and take a few pictures, and then it’s off to the next appointment.”

Emma swallowed back everything left in the bottle, hoping that if she pretended hard enough that it was something stronger, it would give her the confidence to face those fans like she used to. Because right then, she couldn’t stop wondering if one of them was out there killing people in her name.


	10. Chapter 9

“Miss Mills?”

“Yes?” Regina asked, as she turned towards the strange man standing in the center of her friend’s living room.

“Special Agent Jones with the FBI. I’d like to ask you to accompany me back to the office, if you would?” Killian flashed her his badge for inspection before pocketing it once more. He fixed a look on his face that told the other woman his question was more of an order than a request.

“And what’s this about?” Regina Mills asked. “Has my client been charged with a federal offense?”

“No, Miss Swan has done nothing wrong. We just have a few questions we’d like to ask you about an ongoing investigation.” He offered her the sweetest smile he could manage, as he made a move to head for the front door.

“I can find my own way to your office, Agent Jones. There are some documents here that I need to collect before locking up. As I’m sure you can imagine, in this industry, wasted time can be costly.”

“That’s fine,” he assured her. “Just make sure you arrive no later than an hour after I leave this house. I have a series of homicides to investigate, so while I appreciate your deadlines, I’d ask you to respect my own.”

Killian left the house before Regina could say anything else. He’d seen plenty of her type before, during his time with the FBI. She was the kind of woman that could come across as sweet and innocent when she needed to be, but was really only interested in one thing in life.

Protecting her cash flow.

* * *

When Regina arrived at the office, Killian felt absolutely no remorse for having one of the other agents escort her down to the interrogation room and leave her there, while he spoke with the team in the labs.

“Whatcha got for me?” he asked, as he pushed his way into the large room.

“Not much, I’m afraid,” Victor sighed, standing up to make his way over to where the agent was standing. “The fingers are all positive matches for your victims, but I think we were all expecting that.”

A number of heads inside the room bobbed in agreement, before Victor added, “We’ve dusted the boxes for prints. The same two sets appear on each one. One matched the sample that Emma Swan provided us with, and the other is currently unknown. But given Miss Swan’s statement, I assume that they will match with the lawyer.”

“Nothing else?” Killian asked. He knew that he was grasping at straws. The killer had left the scene forensically immaculate, so it was unlikely that he’d have been careless when it came down to the packages he’d sent to Emma.

But Killian needed some kind of hope, because as things currently stood, the FBI was nowhere near landing on a suspect for their newest serial killer.

“As you predicted, the notes were written on the same kind of paper, with the same ink, in the same hand as those found inside of your victims’ mouths. But as you know, both the pens and the paper are sold in virtually every store all over the country, so we can’t trace those back to anyone. Sorry, Jones.”

“Don’t be,” Killian sighed. “Keep up the good work, Vic.”

“You too, Jones,” he told the agent, handing over his reports before he turned to make his way back to whatever it was that he’d been working on, before Killian had interrupted him.

* * *

“Finally. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been sitting here, Agent Jones? I should bill you for my time,” Regina snapped, as she folded her arms over her chest.

“I’m sorry that my murder investigation is interrupting your day,” he threw back at her, before calmly taking his seat on the opposite side of the table. Killian carefully arranged the files he had in front of him before reaching over to start the audio recording of the interview.

“Okay, Miss Mills. I am obligated to inform you that you are not being charged with anything. You’ve been asked to give this interview today just to help aid our investigation. If at any time you wish to stop, we can do so. But I must warn you that should you refuse to cooperate with us, and our investigation finds any evidence of illegal activity on your part, I will be forced to have you charged so we can begin this interview all over again, on the record. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” she sighed, offering the agent one of her best fake smiles.

“Do you recognize this package, Miss Mills?” he asked. Killian pulled out one of the evidence images of the most recent parcel Emma Swan had received, before he slid it across the table for her to see.

“Should I?” she countered.

“Let me rephrase that for you. If I asked a judge for a warrant for your finger prints right now, and compared them to the second set found on _this_ box,” he began, tapping his finger on the image. “Would they match?”

“ _That’s_ what this is all about?” she scoffed. “Some elaborate prank? Doesn’t the FBI have better things to do with their time?”

“You call a severed finger in a box an elaborate prank? We’ve already run the tests, Miss Mills. We know they were real. And I think _you_ know that too. So what I’m wondering is why you’d advise your client to destroy evidence in a potential criminal case, when you know the Bar will have your license for doing so.”

“You have no way to prove that I knew that,” Regina reminded him. “All I did was advise my client on how best to deal with what I believed to be an elaborate prank. Miss Swan is a multi-million dollar recording artist. She’s been on the receiving end of pranks before, Agent Jones. I didn’t want to see her damage that impeccable reputation she has, or the future of her career, at the expense of someone who believes themselves to be a joker.”

“And that would have nothing to do with how much she pays you, right?” he asked. Because the lawyer’s answers absolutely reeked of her own greed, even if she was covering it well.

“There’s nothing wrong with protecting my own interests in my client, is there?”

“There is when it involves the destruction of evidence in a criminal case,” he reminded her.

“As I said before, Agent Jones, I was unaware that it was an _actual_ severed finger inside of that box. I certainly never touched the thing. Now… is that all you need from me today? Because as I informed you earlier, I’m incredibly busy and my time is very valuable.”

“We’ll need your finger prints before you go, just to confirm that they match the ones found on the box,” he told her.

“And I assume one of your lackeys will do that for you.” Regina stood from her chair with another of her fake smiles, as she shot a condescending look down to the FBI agent. “Oh, and the next time you wish to question my client, call me first,” she told him, before tossing her card down onto the table and storming out of the room, in a whirlwind of expensive pant suit and flowery perfume.

* * *

David found his partner still sitting in the interrogation room fourteen minutes later, reviewing the recording from the interview with Regina Mills.

“How’d it go?” he asked, cringing a little as he did.

“I don’t like that woman.”

“You think she’s behind all of this?” David wondered.

“No. I just think she’s a greedy, self-serving, terrible excuse for a human being, who isn’t at all interested in protecting her clients, but instead, in protecting her bank balance.”

“Doesn’t that description fit most of the lawyers in this town?” David chuckled.

Killian laughed along with him as he gathered up his files and stood to head back to his office.

“This is why I keep you around, Dave.”


	11. Chapter 10

Killian sighed as he pushed away from his desk and threw a look down to the clock on his computer screen. He’d been reviewing all of the different reports that had landed on his desk, while he’d been interviewing Regina Mills. But there was still nothing that would even hint in the direction of a viable suspect.

He stood up to stretch his legs for a moment, aware that he’d probably been at his desk for far too long. The slight rumbling of his tummy had him leaving the comfort of his office, to run down to the vending machines on the first floor, and he hoped that a little distance might help him come back to his work with fresher eyes.

With an energy bar and a can of soda in hand, he made his way slowly back up to his department, before dropping down into his chair once more. Killian still wasn’t quite in the mood for going back to his reports though, so he decided to do something else productive, and typed Emma Swan into Google to see what kind of results it would give him.

_Maybe the obsessive psychopath had been professing his love for her on social media?_

His first hit was her official Twitter account, but a brief scroll through her replies showed that most of them were to others in the industry that she was obviously friends with, and the occasional question and answer session that she’d taken part in. He still made a note to have their tech team go through everything just to be safe, though.

The next link Google provided him with was for her Facebook account. The very first thing posted to the top of the page appeared to be live video that was about to begin. Killian pulled his chair a little closer to his desk as he hit the button to make the video full screen, and then waited to see what it was that she’d felt the need to share live with her fans.

In hindsight, he should have known that it would be coverage of one of the interviews she’d given that day. After all, he’d known that she had a busy morning ahead of her, promoting her new tour. But it wasn’t until the video began that he realized what was going on. And by then, it was too late for him to navigate away from the page. She already had him completely enthralled.

Emma had clearly changed between her appearances, as the orange skirt and black blazer were gone, and in their place was a black satin dress, covered in silver and purple flowers. A sheer layer of white tulle added a few inches to the bottom of the hemline, making the dress fall to the middle of her thighs. But the three-quarter length sleeves and high neckline added an air of modesty to the look, which helped to showcase her unexpected maturity.

She’d swapped her shoes for a different pair of black leather pumps, and had released her hair from the ponytail it had originally been pulled back into, allowing it to flow in slightly messy waves around her shoulders.

Killian tried hard to tell himself that her hair absolutely wouldn’t look the same way, after a night spent in the arms of her lover.

As she made her way over to the small stage that had been set in her honor, he found his eyes draw back to her trademark red lips once more. Emma pulled one between her teeth to bite down on gently, before she released it to take her place in front of the audience.

She looked absolutely stunning, and she hadn’t even opened her mouth to start her set yet.

But when she did, Killian knew that he was done for.

He’d heard Ellie wax poetic before about just how talented her favorite singer was, but he’d never really gone out of his way to hunt down Emma’s music to listen to it himself. So hearing her perform her new single that morning, live on national television, left him completely mesmerized. Her voice was stunning against the musical accompaniment that she’d paired with the track, rising and falling effortlessly without missing a note. The lyrics themselves were much deeper than he’d expected from the person he’d initially believed to be nothing more than a materialistic young woman.

Every little part of Emma Swan was completely enchanting, but when the pieces came together to make a whole, Killian could suddenly see why she’d become one of the biggest selling recording artists of the decade.

And why she’d attracted such an obsessive following.

He also finally understood why Ellie had been so devastated and angry, when she’d been unable to convince her father to buy her a ticket for one of Emma’s tour dates. Because Killian would _definitely_ pay good money to see Emma Swan perform live.

The sound of his office phone ringing cut through the room, and Killian jumped a little in surprise as it did. He’d been so caught up in watching Emma perform, he’d completely forgotten that he was still at work.

“Jones,” he spoke into the handset, as he answered the call.

“Hey, it’s Victor. I just wanted to let you know that your lawyer’s prints matched the second set we pulled from the boxes. I’ll put it into my official reports, of course, but I know how big this case is for you.”

“Thanks, Vic. That’s brilliant.”

Killian disconnected the call as he clicked away from Emma’s Facebook page and turned his attention back to the reports on his desk. Lusting over the key witness in their case wasn’t going to get him anywhere, especially when there was someone still out there, killing innocent people.

He really needed to get his head in the game.

And possibly find someone willing to help him work out some of the sexual frustration, that was clearly building inside of him.

* * *

When he left work that evening, Special Agent Jones was still no closer to landing on a suspect than he had been that morning. The tech team had been sent details of Emma Swan’s social media accounts, and were busy going through those to search for clues.

A quick scan of her Wikipedia page had also given him a few names of past boyfriends to bring in for questioning, but Killian wasn’t hopeful that they would provide him with anything solid. Every single one of them had been pictured at some event or another, during the time of death for at least one of their victims. And Gold was certain that the murders had been the work of a single individual. But he didn’t want to leave any stone unturned during his investigation.

The universe had apparently seen fit to taunt him that evening, as the moment he started the engine in his car, the radio came on playing Emma Swan’s new single, and Killian couldn’t bring himself to change the station.

It would feel like such a betrayal to an incredible talent.

Thankfully, his commute was not a very long one, and soon enough he was pulling into the parking garage of his building, and the spot that had been reserved for his car.

He wasn’t much in the mood for food that evening, so after quickly sorting through the mail that had arrived that morning, Killian stripped down and jumped into his shower, hoping that the hot water would help to wash away all of the stress from the day. It used to work, before he’d been placed in charge of an investigation involving a series of homicides. But these days, it seemed like nothing could touch the guilt that was beginning to build in the bottom of his gut, every time another body dropped.

Killian turned off the water and toweled himself off, before making his way through to the bedroom. After pulling on a pair of shorts he climbed between the cool sheets on his bed and turned off the lights, hoping that sleep would claim him quickly.

It didn’t.

* * *

The sound of his cellphone cut through the silence of the apartment, startling Killian awake and out of his dreams. He couldn’t quite remember what they had been about, but he was pretty sure they had featured long, blonde sex hair.

“Yeah?” he croaked into the device, as he reached for the light on his bedside table.

“Special Agent Jones?”

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

“It’s Agent Styles, Sir. Local PD has just placed a call requesting your presence at a crime scene in Santa Monica. They’ve found another body.”

“Send the address to my phone. I’m on my way,” he told the rookie, as he disconnected the call with a sigh.

It was only three seventeen _am_ , and Killian already knew that he was in for a shit day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Emma's look here is based on Jen's look for a NY Post photoshoot in 2014.**


	12. Chapter 11

Killian flashed his credentials at the uniformed cop that had been tasked with watching the perimeter, before ducking down under the obnoxious yellow crime scene tape, and into the alley where the latest body had been found.

All of the way over to the scene he’d been praying that the MO wouldn’t match their killer. As horrendous as it sounded, he’d wanted the body to be that of a regular homicide, and worthy of its own investigation. Not just another name to add to a list of victims for his own serial killer.

But the moment Gold’s eyes met his, he knew that he was shit out of luck.

“Good morning, Special Agent Jones.”

“Do you ever sleep?” Killian wondered, as he dropped down to a crouch beside the body. It had once again been covered with a simple white sheet, to protect the victim’s identity.

“I could ask the same of you,” Gold threw back, before he removed a thermometer from the body between them. He hummed a little at the reading on the display, before making a note of the numbers on a sheet of paper to his left. When he was finished, he gently covered the section of the victim’s torso once more, and then turned his attention up to the FBI agent.

“Female. If I had to guess, I’d estimate mid-to-late twenties. Wounds inflicted to both the chest and face. Cause of death appears to be exsanguination due to a single cut to her throat. Liver temp indicates she’d been dead for roughly six hours. Her left ring finger’s missing.”

Killian sighed as he scrubbed a harsh hand over his face. “And let me guess, a note balled up and placed in the mouth post mortem?”

“I was just getting to that part,” Gold told him, as he reached into his kit for a pair of tweezers. He pulled back the sheet covering the young woman’s face, and Killian cringed a little at the sight of it. Whoever had attacked their victim had done so with a great deal of rage. The cuts across her face looked deeper, causing some of the skin on her cheeks to peel back from the bone.

It was a brutal attack, and one that he was absolutely certain she wouldn’t have deserved.

Gold gently pried her mouth open while Killian pulled out an evidence bag, ready for the medical examiner to drop the ball of wet paper into.

“I think that confirms it,” he said. The guy always seemed so detached from his work, and Killian envied him that ability.

“Yeah. We haven’t told the media about those notes.” It was the best way for them to filter out any potential cases that may arise from copycats taking advantage of the situation. But thankfully, none had so far.

Killian hoped to God that it would stay that way.

With his preliminary examination over, Gold placed all of his equipment and folders back into his bag. He pulled off his gloves and then beckoned over his rather terrified looking assistants. “Be as careful as you can with her,” he instructed, meeting each of their eyes. “I want her prepped and ready for autopsy at nine. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sir,” they both replied quickly, before turning their attention down to the body on the ground of the dirty alley.

Killian could already see the crime scene techs lingering just behind them, waiting for the moment the body was removed so that they could begin combing the space for some kind of clue.

“I’ll see you in a few hours, Jones,” Gold called out, clapping him on the shoulder as he took off in the direction of where his Jaguar had been parked.

“Yeah. See you then,” Killian replied, already turning to head for the small group of officers that were gathered in the space. “Which one of you was the first on the scene?” he asked loudly, interrupting their conversations.

Killian knew that the LAPD usually hated having to share their crime scenes with the FBI. They often felt that it was unfair to have some agent swoop in and claim the glory for solving their cases, when they’d put in all of the work. So he made sure that his tone, when addressing the gathered men, would make it clear that he had absolutely no time for political bullshit that morning.

“I was,” one of the guys in uniform replied, stepping forward a little.

Killian inclined his head back towards the alley where he knew it would be quieter, as he asked, “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“Of course not.” The officer passed his hat off to the guy standing to his left, before following Killian down to a place in the alley, close to the spot where the body had been found. It was quiet enough for them to speak, and offered privacy from the lingering press, but still provided a vantage point for Agent Jones to watch the activity around him.

“Can you start at the beginning for me please?” Killian pulled out a pen and his notepad, and then dropped his back to the wall behind him, as he listened to what the young officer had to say.

It was the usual story, that he’d heard time and time again.

The call had come in at a little after two-thirty from an anonymous source, reporting a woman’s body in the alley. As the officer closest to the area, Adams had responded. He hadn’t gotten close to the body. He’d been able to see from a distance that the woman was already dead, and had called it in as soon as he’d made that discovery. It was Gold who had suggested contacting the FBI. The chief medical examiner had known as soon as he’d gotten close enough that they were dealing with another victim of their serial killer, and he hadn’t wanted to slow the investigation down.

Killian made a note to request a copy of the call that had been placed to report the body, and another to ask for audio comparisons to be run against the previous calls they’d received. Maybe, if he were lucky, they’d find out that their killer was the one making them.

After thanking Officer Adams for his time, he headed back to check in with the lead tech out in the field. But as he’d been expecting, so far, they’d found nothing worthy of sharing with him.

By the time Killian finally climbed into his Camaro to head back home, the sun was beginning to rise in California, and he knew that he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep that morning. Hopefully he’d have time for a shower, to wash away the dirt and grime from the alley he’d spent the last three hours standing around in, before he headed back to the office.

* * *

Emma groaned as she pulled herself out of bed and stumbled her way through to the bathroom. She didn’t need to check her phone to know that it was late. The bright light spilling through the windows in the room told her that she’d slept her way through to the afternoon once more. (Of course, she'd had a lot of help from a bottle of Jack, when she’d woken up shaking and terrified at a little after three).

She avoided looking at her reflection in the mirrors as she turned on the shower and cranked up the heat, before stepping out of her sleep shorts and pulling off the tank top she’d slept in. The scalding hot water helped to wash away what lingered from her dreams, and cleared the fogginess around the edges of her mind.

By the time she stepped out with one large fluffy towel wrapped around her body, and another over her hair, she could almost pretend that she felt human once more.

Back in her bedroom, Emma pulled on a pair of leggings and an old band shirt, before heading down to the kitchen to start some coffee. It was only after she’d taken her first sip that she allowed herself to unlock the sliding doors in the room, and stepped outside onto her deck to enjoy the beautiful weather.

But when her foot kicked something on the ground in front of her, Emma’s mug smashed to the floor, splashing hot coffee up the front of her shins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Happy New Year**


	13. Chapter 12

Killian sighed as he ran the audio back once more. He’d been so sure that his latest hunch would give them something to work with. But the tech guys down in the labs were right. All three calls had been made by three different people, one of which they were pretty sure was female.

Which ruled out the idea of their killer calling in his own crimes.

“Let me guess, no matches?” David said, as he sat a coffee down in front of his friend.

“Nope. None. We have _nothing_ to go on here, David. He’s leaving no forensic evidence, we have nothing to connect the victims to each other, and there are no eye-witnesses. What the hell is he doing and how is it all to protect Emma Swan?”

“Do the victims have any known ties to her at all? Are they fans? Maybe the killer got into a debate with them about her online, and things got a little heated? Has she mentioned recognizing any of them in the pictures he sent to her?”

“No, but she only saw the ones in the first box,” Killian mumbled, as he threw his pen down onto his desk and slumped back into his seat. “She’s probably tried hard to block out the memories of those pictures. I’ll take one of each of our victims back to her and see if she recognizes them.”

The last thing Killian wanted to do was take those images back to Emma Swan. He knew how much pain and suffering they had already caused her, and he didn’t want to be the reason she suffered more. But they were at a point in their case now where he was running out of avenues to pursue, so he knew there was really no other choice.

Killian had just reached for his coffee mug when his cell phone started ringing beside it. He flicked a look of annoyance over to his friend, who was smugly sipping at his own drink, as he picked up the device to answer the call.

“Special Agent Jones,” he greeted.

“There’s been another murder.”

Killian frowned as he tried to place the familiar voice on the other end of the connection. “Who is this?”

“He sent another one.”

“Emma?” There was silence over the line for a moment, and Killian used the time to start pushing papers back into files and saving documents. David sat his coffee back down on the table and swiftly left the room. “Emma, is that you? Are you telling me that you got another package from our killer today?”

“Yes,” she whispered again, after what seemed like a small eternity. “He’s killed someone else.”

“I’ll be right there, Emma. I’m bringing a forensics team with me, okay? Just stay where you are and don’t open that box.”

The line disconnected after his words and Killian cursed into the handset before slamming it down on his desk. He pulled out some of the least traumatizing images from the set that the killer had mailed to the popstar, and slipped them into an envelope to take with him, before pushing everything else into his open desk drawer. After removing his badge and gun from another, Killian locked everything up and logged out of his computer, then grabbed his jacket to head out.

David met him at the bank of elevators with a tense look on his face. “Crime scene techs are on their way over there now. Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. I need you to check in with the team sorting the fanmail. That was supposed to be next on my list of things to do today. I’ll call if I need you.”

David nodded his understanding before heading for the stairwell. It would get him down to the lab being used to sort through the thousands of documents they’d taken from Emma Swan’s home, much quicker than it would take to wait for the elevator.

* * *

The drive over to Emma’s home took longer than Killian would have liked, thanks to the early evening traffic. But when he finally flashed his badge at the guy working the gate, he was quickly waved inside. After making his way down to Emma’s home at the end of the street, he parked next to the simple white van of their crime scene techs.

“You guys finished already?” he asked, as he passed by their open window.

“No answer,” Victor called back. “We were hoping you could get us in.”

Killian nodded his understanding. He knew that Emma was still inside of the building, but she was likely alone and terrified, so it was no big surprise that she had refused to open her door to strangers. “I’ll send you a message when you can come in,” he promised, before heading for the front door.

Killian pressed the bell at the side and waited for a few moments before he started banging on the wood. “Emma? It’s Special Agent Jones with the FBI. Can you open the door for me, please?”

There was a moment of silence where he began to worry that she hadn’t heard him, before the door slowly creaked open, with Emma’s head appearing in the gap. When her eyes landed on his familiar form her entire body seemed to relax, as she pulled the door open wider.

Killian waited until he was inside, with the door firmly closed behind him, before he asked softly, “Where is it?”

“On the back deck,” she replied robotically, as she tossed back the last of the amber liquid in her glass. “I haven’t opened it. I haven’t even touched it.”

“That’s okay,” he reassured her. “The forensics team is already here. They’ll do it for you. But _this_ … this is not the answer.” He removed the glass from her shaking hand and sat it down onto the nearest flat surface. “Come and have a seat,” he invited, taking hold of her upper arm gently to steer her over to the sofa.

As he pulled a little to encourage her to sit, Killian watched as Emma grimaced in pain at the movement, before quickly pulling her face together once more.

“What’s wrong?” he worried. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“I just spilled some coffee,” she explained, keeping her eyes focused on the piece of artwork that hung over her fireplace.

“Where?”

Emma’s gaze dropped down to her shins before lifting back up to the painting once more. But that was all the answer that Killian needed. He slipped off the sofa and into a crouch in front of her as he declared, “I’m gonna roll these up a little and take a look at your legs, okay?”

He waited until her eyes met his and she gave one firm bob of her head before he moved. She was terrified and likely in shock, so the last thing Killian wanted to do was touch her inappropriately without her permission.

But the moment he managed to wiggle the tight lycra up a little, her wince of pain became a full-blown cry of agony, and Killian stopped what he was doing immediately.

“Okay. I’m gonna send a message to our crime scene techs and get them in here to process that box, and then I’m calling a medic. We need to get you looked at.”

“I’m fine,” she protested, as she brushed away the tears that had fallen with the back of her hand.

“You are far from fine right now, Emma. But I’m worried about the burns on your legs. If you dropped scalding hot coffee there’s a chance that you’ve done some serious damage there. We need to have those looked at by a professional. And that’s not something I’m willing to debate.”

He didn’t give her time to protest. Instead, he stood from his place in front of her and moved off to one side to send Victor a quick message, before calling through to dispatch to ask them to send a medic out to the house as quietly as they possibly could. He knew that Emma wouldn’t want to make a fuss of the incident, and the last thing he wanted to do was expose her contact with their investigation because someone had reported seeing an ambulance in the area.

After disconnecting the line, Killian slipped his phone into his pocket and walked slowly back to the sofa, before taking a seat beside her again. “Someone’s on their way, Emma. It’s gonna be okay,” he offered reassuringly.

“No, it’s not,” she sobbed, as she finally turned to face him. Tears were rolling steadily down her cheeks, highlighting just how scared and tired she looked. Her exhaustion and vulnerability made her seem younger, and even though he knew he shouldn’t feel the way he was, Killian wanted nothing more than to gather Emma Swan into his arms and hold her, to help ease her pain.

“Don’t you get it yet, Agent Jones? _He knows_. You have agents watching the house and _he knows_. He left that box on my back deck because he knew they wouldn’t see it there. He knows you’re watching the front of my house. And he knows how to get into my yard. _He knows everything_.”

Killian just managed to open his arms in time to catch her as she fell forward and into his embrace, sobbing loudly onto his shoulder.


	14. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sorry for the delay with this one. I had some technical issues that left me without the use of my laptop.**

Emma had been reluctant to let him go when the first knock on the door had come, and her entire body had tensed with fear in his arms. Killian managed to fish his phone out and sent a quick message to Victor, to tell him that the door was open and how to get through to the back deck, all while the young star continued to sob into his shirt.

He finally had to pry her hands off his jacket when the second knock sounded, to let the medical team into her home. But when he followed the female doctor back through to the living room, they found the pop star staring at the painting above her fireplace once more. Killian did his best to try and engage the young woman again but gave up trying when the doctor gave him a gentle nod and moved around the sofa to begin her examination.

While the medic was tending to Emma’s burns, Killian excused himself to check on the progress the crime scene techs were making in the dining room.

“Same as before?” he asked, as he stepped into the room and closed the door softly behind himself. Victor handed over a pair of latex gloves and Killian pulled them on before he turned his attention to the items spread out over the plastic sheeting on the mahogany table.

"Almost," the other man replied, as he made more untidy notes on a piece of paper attached to a clipboard. "The rose petals, stuffed toys, and finger in a box are all identical. But the pictures this time are much more gruesome, and the letter's different."

The pictures made sense, given the condition they’d found their last victim in. But the changes to the letter were what piqued Killian’s curiosity. He picked it up from the middle of the table, where it was already sealed inside of an evidence bag, to read what it said.

_Emma, my Love,_

_You’re exhausted! I know that the internet raved about how beautiful you looked performing the other day, but those fakers don’t know you the way that I do. They couldn’t see the exhaustion in your eyes._

_Not the way that I can._

_Nobody will EVER understand you the way that I do._

_I have another gift for you. This one was particularly vicious after that performance, and she deserved everything she got. Those fools that blindly follow her every word will soon see the truth, Emma._

_The whole world will!_

_Now she’s as ugly on the outside as she is on the inside._

_I saw those men watching your home, Emma. You should be careful. They can’t be trusted to keep you safe, my love. Only I can do that. But it doesn’t matter. They don’t know you the way that I do. They never will._

_I hope my gift makes you happy._

_I did it for you._

_I do it all for you._

_Look what you made me do, Emma!_

“Wow,” Killian murmured, as he turned the sheet of paper over in his hands to see if anything else had been added to it. As he had expected, the rest was immaculately clean.

“Yeah. Your psychopath is becoming more psychotic with every kill,” Victor agreed.

“What do you think he means by, ‘those fools that blindly follow her every word will soon see the truth?’”

"Social media?" one of the other techs supplied, a little nervously. It was her first time working an active case with Special Agent Jones, and he was far more attractive in person than the gossip in the women’s locker room had made him out to be.

"In what way?" Killian set the letter back down on the table and then turned to offer the young woman his full attention. She blushed a little under the intensity of his gaze but managed to find her voice quickly enough.

“The uh… the previous letters mentioned followers. And that’s a term often used for connections made on social media. You can follow accounts and subscribe to notifications there. Maybe the victims were social media influencers?”

“Thank you. I’ll get the tech team to look into that possibility.”

Killian wasn’t much of a social media fan, so he certainly didn’t know all of the technical terms used to describe what happened there. But right now, he wasn’t prepared to rule out any possibilities.

“Did you sort through the pictures yet?” he asked, as he turned his attention back to Victor.

“Yep. All photographed, bagged and tagged. Why?”

“Is there one of our victim’s face that I could show to Miss Swan? She might recognize them when they're not slashed to pieces and bleeding heavily."

Victor reached for another series of sealed bags and quickly flicked through each of the images that had been included in the package before he found one of the relatively tame ones. Their victim was still clearly bound to a chair, gagged and absolutely terrified. But it was better than what the rest of the pictures had shown.

“Thanks, Man.” Killian clapped him on the shoulder before he pulled off his gloves and tucked them inside of his pocket. “Gimme a shout before you leave.”

“We still have the entire deck to process,” Victor sighed. “We’ll be here for a while.”

Killian nodded his understanding. He had a feeling that he wouldn’t be leaving any time soon either, which meant that he was likely to miss dinner with his brother and Ellie that evening. He pulled out his phone and typed a quick message to Liam, explaining that he was in the middle of a murder investigation, before tucking it back into his pocket once more as he headed for the lounge. His brother would understand. He knew just how demanding Killian’s job could be. Ellie would be less understanding, given that her father and uncle had tried their hardest to keep the harsh realities of Killian’s job from touching her life. Unfortunately, that often left the teenager feeling like her uncle didn’t prioritize spending time with her, over his job.

When he eventually made it back to the living room, after taking a wrong turn and ending up in another bathroom, the medic was just finishing with Emma and looked to be ready to leave.

“How is she?” he asked, pulling the doctor aside.

“You mean aside from being absolutely terrified? She has second-degree burns to both legs. The fabric of her leggings held the water from her coffee against her skin, which has made the burns slightly worse than we'd usually expect to see in such a situation, but the affected areas are reasonably small. As long as she changes her dressings regularly and continues to apply the ointment I’ve left with her, she shouldn’t find them scarring.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

“She’s uh… she’s been drinking,” the doctor stated carefully, almost like she wasn’t sure if she was raising her concerns with the right person. “Someone should stay with her for a while. I’ve given her some painkillers to take the edge off, but she’s not had a full dose given the alcohol in her system. And even now, I’m reluctant to leave her unsupervised.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Killian promised. “Can I show you out?”

“Thanks.”

After ushering the medical team out of the front door, Special Agent Jones used the time to scan the area around Emma's home for anyone that might have been lingering. Their offender had already proven that he liked to watch over his idol. But the neighborhood seemed just as blissfully quiet as it had been when he'd first gotten Emma’s call, which meant that either this guy was good at blending in and making himself look invisible, or he lived close by.

"Emma," Killian called out gently, as he made his way back through to the living room. He made sure to keep his footsteps heavy so that she'd hear him coming, but that didn't stop her from startling when he took the seat beside her own once more. "Emma, I know that this is tough right now, and you're probably in a lot of pain, but I need to ask you some more questions. This could be really beneficial to our investigation. It might help us finally catch this guy.”

“You’re not gonna catch him,” she laughed bitterly. “You _literally_ have people watching my home and he still got in. It’s not gonna help.”

“Don’t you at least want to try and help us find him before he kills someone else?” Killian snapped. “I get it. You’ve given up and you don’t care. You’re happy to drink yourself into an early grave. But I haven’t, and I will do _everything_ it takes to make sure nobody else dies at the hands of this guy. So you can either answer my questions for me _here_ , or I’ll take you down to the office to do it.”

Emma finally pulled her eyes away from the painting above her fireplace to turn and face the man sat opposite her. Instead of the broken woman he’d seen when he’d first entered her home, Killian was faced with a fiery Emma Swan. And he took that as a small sign of progress.

“I care,” she hissed at him. “Of course I care. Why do you think I called you in the first place? I’m just… I’m not _you_. I’m not… Until he sent me that first box, I’d _never_ seen a dead body before. And now, I’m getting body parts sent to me in little boxes professing some psycho’s love for me. So I’m sorry for being scared right now. And I’m sorry that you think my fear is a lack of compassion for others. But spare me the help crap, Agent Jones, because you and I both know that there is _nothing_ you can do to help me right now. You don’t even have a lead to chase on this guy. It could literally be any _one_ of the almost forty million people in this state.”

“Then help me come up with something,” he begged. “Sit down with me and go over what we have. _You_ are the person that connects this entire investigation, Emma. So I’m willing to bet my car on the fact that _you’ll_ be the one to help point us in the right direction at last. _Help me_ , Emma. If not for yourself, then for the people this guy’s attacking. Help me bring closure to the families of those young girls who have been killed.”

He had fully expected her to avoid his gaze after making such an impassioned plea, but Emma Swan surprised him once more. Instead, she held his eyes and gave one firm nod of her head, as she whispered a soft, “okay,” into the space between them.

Killian released a sigh of relief he didn't know he'd been holding before he stood from the sofa once more. "Okay. How um… how about some tea before we get started?"

“I’d uh… I’d prefer coffee,” she whispered softly, as she stretched the arms of her sleeves down over her hands self-consciously. “I never got to drink mine earlier.”

“Coffee it is,” he agreed, turning to head for the kitchen. Killian stopped just as he was about to cross the threshold into the hallway and turned back to see Emma watching him intently. “You um… you might wanna talk me through using your coffee machine first.”

Emma snorted out a laugh at the look of complete confusion on his face.

It was perhaps the first time he’d seen that spark of life behind her eyes since they’d met.


	15. Chapter 14

Killian waited until he had two mugs of coffee sat on the table in front of them both before he pulled out his phone and the notebook that he always carried with him.

“Do you mind if I record this?” he asked. At Emma’s confused look he added, “It’s just for clarity. I might miss something you tell me now because I’m distracted, or pass over a detail that I don’t think is important and later proves to be a big help to us. Nobody else will ever hear this. I can promise you that. It’ll be destroyed the second the trial is over.”

The young woman nodded her agreement as she reached for her coffee mug, holding the ceramic cup between both of her palms to allow the warmth of the beverage to soothe her soul.

“Thank you, Emma.” Killian fiddled with his phone for a moment to start the recording and then spoke directly into the microphone. “It’s June twelfth, twenty-eighteen, and this is an informal chat with Emma Swan regarding the current serial homicides taking place in the state of California.” He set the device down on the coffee table to his left before reaching into his jacket to pull out one of the images that he’d bought over to the house with him.

“I know this isn’t easy, but I was wondering if you could take a look at this picture for me, Emma? It’s of our first victim.”

Emma looked like she was willing the image in his hand to spontaneously combust as she saw him extend it in her direction. After a moment of glowering down at it, she finally reached out with trembling fingers to take the picture from him. But the instant she realized who had taken the picture, her face furrowed with her anguish.

“Focus on her features, Emma. Not on what’s happening in the image.”

She tried to do as she was asked, but even then she could see the scream forming around the woman’s gag, and the look of sheer terror in her eyes.

“No,” she eventually whispered. “I’m sorry. I don’t know her. Has she not been identified yet?”

“We’ve identified two of our victims so far,” Killian assured her. “This is Juliet Holding. Does that name ring a bell at all?”

Emma shook her head before she could voice her answer, but stopped suddenly as a memory tugged at the back of her mind. “Wait. What did you say her name was?”

“Juliet Holding.”

Emma definitely knew that name. She just couldn’t quite place where she’d heard it before. “Show me another one,” she commanded, hoping that maybe the next victim’s identity would help to trigger that memory.

Killian passed over another image, this time of a redheaded woman, bound in the same way and to the same chair, in what appeared to be the same location.

“I know her,” she whispered. “I know I do. I just don’t know _how_.”

This was exactly what Killian had been hoping for. It was why he’d brought the images with him. “What about this one?” he asked, handing over another picture, this time of their third victim. “Her name’s Imogen Ward.”

“Yes! She’s a blogger.” Emma’s eyes snapped up to meet his and the relief behind her gaze almost floored him. For all of her reluctance when they’d first met, it was obvious that she wanted to help where she could. Even if it was only to protect herself.

“She uh… she’s a fashion blogger. She didn’t like an outfit I wore for an event a few months back and completely tore it apart online. I didn’t read her article, but plenty of people sent it to me.”

Killian’s pen flew over his page as he made notes on what she was saying while he asked, “Is it possible that the other women are also bloggers?”

“Of course. There are thousands of them out there. I don’t know them all by name, though. I just remember this one because it happened recently.”

“Has anyone else ever written anything negative about you?”

Emma arched a brow in his direction that said he was asking a stupid question, and Killian sighed in agreement.

“Point taken. Do you maybe remember any in particular? Anything exceptionally vicious or nasty?”

“Uh…” Emma tried to think back on anything memorable that had happened during her career, but most of those moments were positives, not negatives. She tried to always focus on the good in her life, instead of dwelling upon the bad. “No. I don’t… yes. _Yes!_ The redhead. She wrote an article about me not long after my break into the industry. She called my music ‘cheesy gimmicks aimed at brainwashing teenage girls into thinking they want to be me, and teenage boys into thinking that they want to be with me.’ I don’t remember her name, though.” Emma only remembered the article because, at the time, it was the first piece of negative press she’d received. She’d cried herself to sleep after reading it through – twice.

“That’s fine,” Killian assured her. “I can have a member of our team look into it. And if it’s okay with you, we’ll do a search for any articles or blogs that may have written negative pieces about you, and see if we can link them back to any of our other victims.”

“Oh, God. Do you think that’s what he’s doing? Is he killing people that voice a negative opinion about me online?”

“It’s entirely possible. His letters suggest a desire to protect you, so this might just be his twisted way of doing that,” Killian explained.

It wasn’t much, but it was the closest they’d come to a break in their case, so he’d take it. It also gave them a starting place to identify potential targets for any future attacks that could take place. Killian only hoped that Emma’s detractors were in the extreme minority online. The FBI didn’t have the resources to surveil dozens of people at once, especially when they were in the middle of a large murder investigation.

“Do you wanna take a small break,” he asked, as he reached for his phone to stop and save the recording.

“Please.” Emma took a few heavy gulps of her coffee as she tried not to imagine how many people would have inadvertently put themselves on some psycho’s kill list just because of her. “Do you um… do you think I should issue a public statement?” she asked quietly. “I could ask him to stop? Or I could warn people to be more careful about what they post online?”

Killian considered the question carefully before he gave his reply. This version of Emma Swan was vastly different to the one he’d first met, and it took him a moment to realize why. It wasn’t fear that was motivating her actions, it was trust.

Emma Swan trusted him, and because she did, she was opening herself up to him a little more.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he told her gently. “There are some people in this world that will take advantage of situations like this one. They’ll use the hysteria to commit their own crimes and hope we lay the blame for them at the feet of our killer.”

Emma nodded her head in understanding. She’d seen enough crime documentaries to know how true that was.

“Right now, you’re our secret weapon, Emma. Nobody outside of the bureau knows about your connection to the crimes. As long as it stays that way, we have a better chance of making sure that we don’t waste our resources in the wrong areas.” Killian waited until Emma caught his eyes before he offered her a small smile of encouragement. “Thank you, though. For wanting to help.”

“I’m not as heartless as some people seem to believe I am,” she threw back at him. “I just… I wish this wasn’t happening. I don’t want anyone to suffer, Agent Jones. Especially not for me. I’m not worth that.”


	16. Chapter 15

After spending over an hour processing the back deck and the package that Emma had received, Killian was the one to finally show Victor and his team out of the building. They’d pulled a number of different fingerprints from the area, but nobody was hopeful that they’d reveal any leads. It was obvious that plenty of people had used the space before, leaving their prints behind. And as everyone had been expecting, there was nothing on the box or the items inside of it.

Killian took a slight detour on his way back to the living room, stopping to grab a couple of bottles of water from the kitchen. He knew that Emma had been drinking again that morning, and with the burns on her legs, he didn’t want her to dehydrate. He was expecting to find her staring at the picture hanging over her fireplace again when he returned, but this time, Emma’s eyes tracked his form the moment he came into view and stayed locked on him until he took his seat beside her.

“Your girlfriend called,” she said, nodding her head at where his phone was still sat on the coffee table.

“I haven’t had a girlfriend in three years, so that would be an impressive feat if she had,” he chuckled, reaching for the device to check his call log. He wasn’t overly surprised to find Ellie’s name on the screen in red.

“Sorry. I just assumed…”

“It’s okay,” Killian assured her. He’d have probably made the same assumption if some random guy had Emma called her during their interviews. “Ellie’s my niece. She’s a big fan of yours, remember?”

Emma looked a little confused for a moment before her eyes brightened with understanding. “Oh yeah. God, I’m so sorry. It completely slipped my mind.”

“No worries.” Killian swiped away the missed call notification and then pulled up the voice recording app once more before setting his phone back down onto the table.

“Don’t you wanna call her back?”

“Not right now. I’m missing family dinner so she’s not gonna be happy with me, and I’m not much in the mood to either be yelled at or guilt-tripped by a teenager,” he sighed. Killian already felt bad enough for missing another of their dinner dates, but he also felt terrible for the families of the two victims they hadn’t yet identified. They would never get the chance to enjoy a family dinner with their daughter or sister again. And it was that knowledge that kept him focused on doing his job.

“We could always pick this up again tomorrow?” Emma offered.

“It’s fine. It’s done now,” he told her, as he flipped to a blank page in his notepad and reached for his phone to start it recording once more. “Okay. I want to change the topic this time, if that’s alright with you?” When Emma nodded her agreement, Killian asked, “How often does your back deck get used?”

“Often. We use it for parties and things like that. I haven’t been out there much since those packages started arriving, but it’s probably seen more use than some of the rooms inside of my house.”

Killian cringed a little at her answer. He’d been expecting it, but that didn’t really soften the blow much.

“Who would’ve had access to it?”

“Everyone I know,” she sighed.

“Do you mind if I take a few names? Just so we can try and rule out their prints if we find them there.”

“Uh, my assistant, Ariel Fisher; my lawyer, Regina Mills; my agent, Graham Humbert; my housekeeper, Mrs. Lucas; my exes, Neal Cassidy and Walsh Osbourne; a load of people from the recording studio that I don’t know surnames for. Then there are the dancers that I’ve worked with who I couldn’t even begin to name; all of the executives at Sony Music and their families too.” Emma screwed her eyes shut as she tried to recall everyone who had ever attended one of her parties, but that list was incredibly long and changed frequently. “Oh uh… my stylists that you met the other day. It’s a _really_ long list, Agent Jones.”

Killian nodded his head to show his understanding. At least he had a few names to work with. “What about your family and friends?”

“I don’t really have much of either,” Emma offered emotionlessly, and his eyes snapped up to meet hers. “Most of my former friends stopped returning my calls when I moved to Los Angeles. The so-called friends I’ve made since I’ve been in the city were only interested in me when I had money and fame, and quickly turn against me when they thought that doing so would give _them_ money and fame.”

“And your parents?” he prodded gently, because he didn’t want to poke at an open wound, but Killian really needed this information for his investigation.

“You don’t know?”

At Agent Jones’s confused look, Emma pushed herself to her feet with a small hiss of pain and made her way over to a bookcase in the corner of the room. When she returned there was a small wooden box in her hands, with a number of swans carved into the design. She carefully opened it up and pulled out the newspaper clippings she kept hidden away inside of it. That box was the extent of the digging she’d done into her past. A past that she stopped caring about years ago.

Killian took a moment just to skim the short articles that he’d been handed before his eyes moved back to Emma’s face. “I’m…”

“Don’t! Don’t tell me you’re sorry,” she snapped back. “You didn’t leave me on the side of the road to die, so you don’t owe me an apology. And I’ve long since stopped caring about the people who did. They’re not a part of my life, and they never will be.”

Killian nodded his head to show his understanding as he made a quick note of the date and location where baby Emma had been found. She wouldn’t be happy to know that he planned on investigating her past when he got back to the office, but given the lengths the killer was going to in order to ‘protect’ her, he wasn’t willing to rule out the possibility that his suspect could be her father or a long-lost uncle.

“Okay, how about we move on to the next topic?” he suggested instead. When Emma snapped the lid shut on the box and threw it down onto the coffee table, he took that as her agreement. “This one probably isn’t much better than the last, but I’m gonna need a list of all of your past lovers.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s just to check for alibis and things like that,” he quickly assured her. “We’ve already ruled out some, thanks to their locations being splashed all over the internet at the time of one or more of the murders. But we’re also fully aware that you may have been involved with someone recently that you’ve not been publicly linked to.”

Emma sighed as she brought her hands up to run through her hair. She couldn’t imagine any of the guys she’d ever been in a relationship with doing this to someone else. But she was so desperate to put an end to what was going on, that she wasn’t about to refuse Agent Jones’s request.

“It’s a relatively short list,” she warned him, because contrary to popular belief, Emma spent more of her time focusing on her music than on her love life.


	17. Chapter 16

“And then there’s Mrs. Martin at the end of the street,” Emma finished. She had her eyes screwed shut as she tried desperately to recall the names of every person living in her private, gated community. But it hadn’t been easy. She never spoke to most of the people, and those she did she speak with she only ever offered a passing greeting to on her way in and out. They were all such different people, and she knew that she wasn’t the only one on the street who preferred keeping her own company to that of her neighbors.

“Okay. I think that’s about all we need today, Emma. But with your permission, I’d like to come back tomorrow and speak with your neighbors, just to see if they’ve noticed anyone suspicious in the area.”

“Are you gonna tell them about the killer?” The last thing Emma needed right then was to be driven out of her home by the people living close to her, just because they blamed her for having some dangerous psychopath in the area. But she wouldn’t exactly blame them for that. She’d be just as pissed if some pop star had inadvertently put her kids’ lives at risk – that is, if she ever had kids of her own.

“No, not right now. It’s not in their best interests to know just yet. I don’t want to risk causing a panic. We’ll tell them there’s been an incident in the local area and we’re covering all of our bases. You’d be surprised how vague we can get away with being during an active case,” he teased. But the remark didn’t bring a smile to Emma’s face as he’d hoped.

Killian busied himself with stopping the recording and saving their interview to his phone before he finally broached the issue that had been on his mind all evening. “Before I go,” he began carefully, “I wanted to talk to you a little about possibly relocating.”

Emma’s eyes snapped up to meet his, but instead of the fire he’d expected to find behind her gaze, Killian almost felt like he was drowning in the myriad of emotions reflected in them.

“It would only be temporary. Just until we catch this guy. And it would be strictly for your safety, Emma. But given what you said when I first arrived here today, I think it’s something you should strongly consider.”

Emma took a moment to think the question over before she gave Agent Jones her answer.

“No.”

“Emma, please…”

“No!” she cut him off fiercely, as she pushed herself up to her feet with another small hiss of pain. “You’re nowhere near close to finding out who’s behind this, Agent Jones. So while it sounds temporary to you, it could be _years_ for me. I’ve already let this bastard control so much of my life since he started sending those packages, and I refuse to let him take my home from me too. So no. I’m not going anywhere.” She paused for a moment to prop her hands on her hips as she looked down to the man sitting on her sofa. The fire behind her eyes died a little as she whispered, “Besides, you said that I was safe, right? That at the moment he doesn’t seem interested in physically harming me.”

Killian sprang to his feet and reached out for her nearest arm, offering it a gentle squeeze of comfort as he assured her, “That’s right. I don’t think he has any immediate plans to harm you, Emma. But… I don’t want to be wrong about this at the cost of your life. I’d feel better if you let us relocate you for your own safety.”

“You can relocate me if things start to change. But for now, I’m staying here,” she replied firmly, leaving him absolutely no room to argue with her decision. “I have a tour to prepare for anyway, so I’ll be on the road soon enough. I doubt the bastard will be flying all over the globe to track me down when that happens. And if he does… then I guess that would at least give you a suspect to work with.”

“That’s true,” Killian agreed, with a rueful chuckle. He hadn’t thought about that when she’d first mentioned her tour, but now that she’d given him the idea, his mind was already making mental notes to contact the ticket providers for lists of every single package sold. Maybe her obsessive fan was just obsessive enough to attend multiple events, and they’d finally get lucky that way.

“Well, if you’re sure you wanna stay, I’m going to assign a slightly bigger detail to your home,” he said, as he watched her gingerly make her way around the coffee table and over to a small desk sat in another corner of the room. “I want people watching the front _and_ back of your house now. And if it’s okay with you, I’d like to take a look at your schedule for the rest of this month. If this guy is as obsessive as his actions are suggesting, then we might get lucky and be able to pick him out of a crowd if he shows up everywhere you go. But for that to happen, I’d need your permission to have someone join you on those occasions.”

Emma had been busy digging through her desk drawer while he’d been speaking. When she straightened up again and turned to face the FBI Agent, she had a large Manila envelope in her hands.

“That’s fine with me. I can always tell Ariel that I hired a new bodyguard or something.” She thought that statement over for a moment longer as she carefully made her way back to stand beside him once more, before she added, “Actually, that would work well if _you_ were the person following me around. Obviously, she already knows that you’re an FBI agent, but I could tell her that you were looking for a second job to help support your family?” When Agent Jones looked a little dubious about that explanation, she didn’t hesitate to add, “You’d be surprised how many of your colleagues moonlight for the rich and famous. We pay better than the government does.”

“Of course you do,” he scoffed. He should have guessed that. “I uh… I’ll see what I can do. I don’t really have the time to moonlight at the moment, even if I am only pretending to do so. But I could probably arrange for either my partner or myself to be with you? That way, you’d always be surrounded by a familiar face.”

“Sure. Just let me know when you have a plan.”

Killian nodded his agreement and for a moment, an almost comfortable silence seemed to settle between the two of them. Emma was the one to break it when she said, “Here,” and held out the envelope in her hands.

“What’s this?”

“A peace offering for your niece. Moonlighting FBI agents get great perks,” she teased, as she watched him peer into the envelope. It was too dark to see exactly what was inside of it, but Killian was pretty sure that he could make out the edges of a plastic CD case.

“Thanks. She’ll love it. And uh… you didn’t need to do that.”

“It’s fine. It’s the least I could do,” she assured him, waving away his concerns. “Thanks for coming, Agent Jones. Thanks for… _everything_.”

“You’re very welcome, Miss Swan. I’ll see myself out but make sure you lock up after me, okay?”

Emma nodded her head as Killian turned on his heels to head for the front door, with her following as close behind as she could, given the pain in her legs.

“Call me if you need anything,” he instructed, his hand resting on the doorknob. “And promise me that there will be no more whiskey tonight. You need water to stay hydrated and to help those burns heal.”

“I promise. Thanks again, Agent Jones. Enjoy what’s left of your evening.”

Killian didn’t offer the sentiment back. He knew that Emma wouldn’t be enjoying hers, given everything that had happened that day. Instead, he nodded his head one final time before slipping outside and closing the door firmly behind himself. And then he waited. When the sound of the lock clicking into place met his ears, he finally turned away from the house to head back to where he’d parked his car.


	18. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sorry for being MIA for a while. I had to take a step back to work on improving my health and then catch up at work.**

“You look awful.”

“Thanks, Dave. It’s always lovely to see you too,” Killian deadpanned, as his friend sat a mug of coffee down in front of him. He reached out for it and took a long sip, savoring the bitter taste that exploded over his tongue before he raised his eyes to ask, “How did it go yesterday, with the team sorting the fanmail?”

“They’re not even _halfway_ through it yet,” David sighed. “There are thousands of pieces there, and what they’re doing isn’t a quick and simple search. But what they have sorted through so far hasn’t thrown up any connections to our guy. What about you? Did you have any luck with Emma Swan yesterday?”

“Plenty. Which is why I’ve been here for three hours already,” he groaned, running both of his hands through his hair. Killian picked up the file that had been sat on one side of his desk and tossed it over the table for his friend to flick through.

“Emma helped us to identify another of our victims, and she’s given us a connection between them all too.”

“Critics?”

“Isn’t everyone these days?” Killian challenged. “From what we’ve been able to dig up so far, the girls we have identified are actually legitimate journalists.” It had come as something of a surprise to him. He hadn’t realized that websites actually paid people to attack celebrities the way these women had, and for such trivial things too. One of their articles about Emma that he’d read was simply a list of all the worst outfits she’d ever worn – and most of the pictures they’d used to illustrate said outfits were _years_ old. “They’ve all written some pretty high-traffic hit pieces on Emma, which is what we _think_ is the killer’s motive behind the attacks. I’ve got some of the guys from tech running down other pieces that female journalists have written about her. Maybe we’ll be able to connect a name to a missing person’s report and ID our last victim.”

David nodded his head in understanding but didn’t lift it from the file he was still flicking through. “The note changed this time,” he murmured.

“Yeah. Our killer seems to be spiraling. But hopefully the new information we have will let us catch him before his mental stability can decline any further.”

“What do you need me to do?” David asked, finally snapping the file closed.

“I need a list of everyone who’s purchased tickets for Emma’s tour dates. Cross-check the names on each one. See if any of them appear more than a couple of times. If this guy is as obsessed as his actions suggest, then we might get a hit that way,” Killian explained. “I also wanna send someone out to Emma’s neighborhood to ask the people in her community if they’ve seen anything suspicious recently. Do you think you could coordinate that for me?”

“Of course,” David assured him. His friend looked like he needed a good night of sleep, but he assumed that Killian had leads of his own to chase down, given that he was delegating to others. “What about you? What are your plans for the day?”

“I have to go and tell a woman that her daughter’s never coming home,” he sighed, pushing his chair away from the desk to stand up and stretch out his aching muscles. “After that, I’m gonna call in and see Liam and Ellie. I canceled on them again last night, so I have some groveling to do.”

“Do you want me to come with you to tell the mother?” David asked, as he watched his friend gather a few files from his desk before reaching into a drawer for his badge and gun.

“Nah. Someone needs to chase down these leads, and I’d rather it be someone I trust. You don’t mind, do ya?”

“Not at all,” David replied. “I’ll call you if I find anything promising.”

“Thanks, mate.”

* * *

The worst part of Killian’s job was always delivering bad news. He could still remember the first time he’d gone with a supervisor to do just that. The guy had pulled him aside to warn Killian not to let his emotions show until they were away from the victim’s family. It had been much easier said than done. He could still see the exact moment the woman’s heart had broken when she’d found out that her husband wouldn’t ever be coming home, and that look had haunted his dreams for months after that day.

Over the years he’d gotten better at dealing those blows. He’d learned to switch off the side of his brain that wanted nothing more than to hold those poor people as they cried for their loss while making promises that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to keep. He’d learned to push those experiences down, to bury them under months of happy memories with his brother and his niece, so that he could sleep relatively peacefully every night. But it hadn’t been easy.

As the navigation system in his car told him that he’d arrived at his final destination, Killian took a moment to switch off that compassionate side of his brain before he finally climbed out. The neighborhood he was in looked like a nice one, the kind where people living in it would never have expected the sort of news he was about to deliver. Which didn’t make the task ahead of him any easier to face.

After rapping his knuckles sharply on the white wooden door, he reached into his back pocket for his badge and waited for someone to answer it.

“Yes?”

“Mrs. Bell? My name’s Special Agent Jones and I work for the FBI. Would you mind if I came in?” he asked, holding out his credentials for the older woman to check over.

When she was satisfied that he was who he claimed to be, Mrs. Bell pulled the door open wider and ushered him through to the living room before closing it softly behind him.

“Can I get you anything to eat or drink, Special Agent Jones?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” he assured her, as he took a careful seat on the edge of her sofa. The woman seemed to know that something bad was coming, as she hesitated before taking her own. But she didn’t voice her concerns.

Killian let his gaze wander around the space for just a moment, taking in the pictures that decorated the walls and the mantlepiece. Even from a distance, he could tell he was in the right house, and for just a second, he hated himself for what he was about to do.

“I apologize for disturbing you this morning, Mrs. Bell, but I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he began carefully.

The woman’s eyes were already watering but she nodded her head for him to continue anyway.

“It’s about your daughter, Isobel.”

“Oh God, no!”

“I’m so very sorry to have to tell you this, but I’m afraid we found Isobel’s body a few weeks ago.”

The chilling cry of agony that left the older woman’s throat was one that Killian knew he would never be able to forget.

**Author's Note:**

> **Thanks for reading.**


End file.
